LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Digitized by the Internet Arcinive 
in 2011 with funding from 
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http://www.archive.org/details/wandererspoemsofOOwint 



POEMS OF WILLIAM WINTER 




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WANDERERS 



WILLIAM WINTER 



NEW EDITION 



WITJI PORTRAIT 



NEW YORK 
MACMILLAN AND COMPANY 

AND London 

1892 



--|._. 



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Copyright, 1892, 
By MACMILLAN AND CO. 



Two hundred and fifty copies of this edition printed 
on hand-made paper, November, 1892. 



Typography by J. S. Cnshlng & Co., Boston, tT.S.A. 
PresBwork by Berwiok & Smith, Boston, U.S.A. 



TO 

THE DEAK AND SACRED MEMOEY 
OF MY BELOVED SON 

AETHUE 



"My heart, sweet hoy, shall be thy sepulchre " 




'•'-That's Jot thoughts''^ 



CONTENTS. 



I. LOVE-LAITD. 

PAGE 

MY QUEEN 17 

HOMAGE 19 

THE lover's choice . . . .20 

QUESTIONS 21 

NOW 22 

EELICS 23 

DEAD LEAVES 25 

WHITE ROSES 26 

THE BROKEN HARP 28 

JUBEIi 29 

VICTORIA 30 

AN ANGEIi BRIDE 32 

7 



8 CONTENTS. 

FAGB 

A WISH 34 

VIOLET 34 

CHANGED 37 

love's refuge 38 

love's requiem 38 

the undertone 40 

constance 41 

after all 43 

NO MORE . . . . . . .45 

THE LAST SCENE 46 

RUE 46 

ASLEEP 48 

EBB TIDE 49 

n. Tempest. 

DOOM 63 

CIRCE 54 

SEMPER IDEM 55 

ACROSS THE FALL 57 



CONTENTS. 9 

PA6B 

THE YELLOW ROSE 60 

THE wrecker's BELL .... 62 

ACCOMFLICES 68 

FREDESTIKED 70 

ORGLA. 71 

EBBBUS • 71 

III. Love and Death. 

LOVE AND death . . . • • 77 

IV. Pansies and Kosemart. 

after long years 91 

the harbinger 93 

homeward bound 97 

BEAUTY . . . . . . . 102 

LETHE 105 

THE WHITE FLAG 109 

THE SCEPTRE 112 

IN A CHURCHYARD 115 



10 CONTENTS. 

FASB 

BEYOND THE DAKK 117 

THE ANGEL OF DEATH .... 119 

THE SIGNAL LIGHT 120 

SYMBOLS 123 

ASHES 123 

THE PASSING BELL AT STRATFORD . 125 

heaven's hour 126 

THE MERRY MONARCH .... 127 

BLUE AND BLACK 130 

AN EMPTY HEART 132 

THE NIGHT WIND 133 

NEVER 134 

V. At Vesper Tijie. 

AT ANCHOR 137 

IN peace 138 

THE golden silence .... 139 

EGERIA 140 

MY PALACES 142 



CONTENTS. II 

PAGE 
OLD DAYS AND LOVES .... 143 

THE SEQUEL 145 

THE NIGHT WATCH 147 

THE VEILED MUSE 148 

UNWRITTEN POEMS 150 

A SOUVENIR 150 

INCENSE 151 

FULL CIRCLE 152 

VI. Tribute and Commemoration. 



GEORGE ARNOLD .... 


155 


ADA 


157 


JOHN BROUGHAM .... 


160 


JOHN LAWRENCE TOOLE . 


163 


GEORGE PAWCETT ROWE . 


167 


EDGAR POE . . . . . 


170 


THE VOICE OF THE SILENCE . 


171 


JOHN GILBERT 


178 


A PLEDGE TO THE DEAD . 


179 



12 CONTENTS. 

PAGX 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES . . . 182 

A LOTOS FLOWER 185 

ELEGY AT ARLINGTON .... 187 

EDWIN BOOTH 194 

ADELAIDE NEILSON 197 

JOHN MCCULLOUGH 198 

LAWRENCE BARRETT .... 203 

A MEMORY 206 

LONGFELLOW 211 

WILLIAM WARREN 214 

GOOD NIGHT 217 

HENRY IRVING 220 

ELEGY AT EVERGREEN .... 226 

RAYMOND 232 

LESTER WALLACK 234 

THE STATUE 236 

WHITELAW REID 240 

I. honour's pearl .... 240 

n. THURE ET FIDIBUS .... 242 



CONTENTS. 13 

PAGE 

A SACRIFICE 244 

WILKIE COLLINS 245 

UISEBBOIUS 248 

FLORENCE 250 

GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS . . . 251 

FERDITA 255 

ARTHUR 260 

VII. Notes 263 



I. 

LOVE-LAND. 



I. 

LOVE-LAND. 



MY QUEEK 

He loves not well whose love is bold ! 

I would not have thee come too nigh : 
The sun's gold would not seem pure gold 

Unless the sun were in the sky : 
To take him thence and chain him near 
Would make his beauty disappear. 

He keeps his state, — keep thou in thine, 
And shine upon me from afar ! 

So shall I bask in light divine, 
That falls from love's own guiding star ; 

So shaU thy eminence be high. 

And so my passion shall not die. 

But all my life shall reach its hands 
Of lofty longing toward thy face, 

And be as one who speechless stands 
In rapture at some perfect grace ! 

B 17 



1 8 WANDERERS. 

My love, my hope, my all shall be 
To look to heaven and look to thee 1 

Thy eyes shall be the heavenly lights, 
Thy voice the gentle summer breeze, — 

"What time it sways, on moonlit nights, 
The murmuring tops of leafy trees ; 

And I shall touch thy beauteous form 

In June's red roses, rich and warm. 

But thou thyself shall come not down 
From that pure region far above ; 

But keep thy throne and wear thy crown, 
Queen of my heart and queen of love ! 

A monarch in thy realm complete, 

And I a monarch — at thy feet I 



HOMAGE. 

White daisies on the meadow green 
Present thy beauteous form to me : 

Peaceful and joyful those are seen. 
And peace and joy encompass thee. 

I watch them, where they dance and shine, 

And love them — for their charm is thine. 



LOVE -LAND. ig 

Eed roses o'er the woodland brook 
Remember me thy lovely face : 

So blushing and so fresh its look, 
So wild and shy its radiant grace I 

I kiss them, in their coy retreat, 

And think of lips more soft and sweet. 

Gold arrows of the merry morn, 

Shot swiftly over orient seas ; 
Gold tassels of the bending com 

That ripple in the August breeze. 
Thy wildering smile, thy glorious hair, 
And aU thy power and state declare. 

White, red, and gold — the awful crown 

Of majesty and beauty too ! 
From what a height those eyes look down 

On him who proudly dares to sue ! 
Yet, free from self as thou from sin 
Is love that loves, nor asks to win. 

Let me but love thee in the flower. 
The waving grass, the dancing wave. 

The fragrant pomp of garden bower. 
The violet on the nameless grave. 

Sweet dreams by night, sweet thoughts by 
day,— 

And time shall tire ere love decay ! 



WANDERERS. 

Let me but love thee in the glow 
When morning on the ocean shines, 

Or in tlie mighty winds that blow, 
Snow-laden, through the mountain 
pines — 

In all things fair, or grand, or dread, 

And all shall die ere love be dead ! 



THE LOVER'S CHOICE. 

The stroller in the pensive field 
Doth many a wildering flower descry ; 

Sometimes to him the roses yield ; 
Sometimes the lilies feed his eye ; 

Sometimes he takes delight in one. 

Sometimes in all, sometimes in none. 

But when, in dusky woodland ways. 
He sees, beside some dreaming stone, 

The fresh, untutored violet raise 
Her pleading eyes, for him alone, 

Then makes his heart its final choice, 

And nature speaks, in passion's voice. 

The lover, when his life is new, 
By many a wayward impulse led, — 



LOVE-LAND. 21 

Sometimes is charmed by gold and blue, 

Sometimes by brown and mantling red ; 
Sometimes proud dame and maiden small 
Please just the same, or not at all. 

But "when, remote from pleasure's whirl, 
He sees, at home's sequestered shrine, 

The ardent, happy, guileless girl. 
Of mortal mould but soul divine, — 

Too good, too beautiful, to know 

How fair her worth and beauty show ; 

Then all his roving fancies pause, 
Entranced by that o'erwhelming grace ; 

It rules him by celestial laws. 
It lights a splendour in his face : 

'Tis the best good that fate can give — 

And all for which 'tis life to live I 



QUESTIONS. 

Because love's token is a sigh. 

Doth it the less love's heart disclose ? 

Because the rose must fade and die, 
Is it the less the lovely rose ? 

Because black night mtist shroud the day. 

Shall the brave sun no more be gay ? 



-.*S:''!Cli?te**l61iK~" 



22 WANDERERS. 

Because chill autumn frights the birds, 
Shall we distrust that spring will come ? 

Because sweet words are only words, 
Shall love f orevermore be dumb ? 

Because our bliss is fleeting bliss, 

Shall we who love forbear to kiss ? 

Because those eyes of gentle mirth 

Must sometime cease my heart to thrill, 

Because the sweetest voice on earth 
Sooner or later must be still. 

Because its idol is unsure, 

Shall my strong love the less endure ? 

Ah, no ! let lovers breathe their sighs, 
And roses bloom, and music sound. 

And passion burn on lips and eyes. 
And pleasure's merry world go round : 

Let golden sunshine flood the sky, 

And let me love or let me die ! 



NOW. 

When you shall walk, in pensive mood. 
The happy paths we used to know, 

And sad, regretful thoughts intrude. 
And hopeless dreams of long ago. 



LOVE-LAND. 23 

How will your wakened spirit bear 
Its bitter pang, its bleak despair ? 

When in your heart, as now in mine, 
Shall throb the pulse of arid grief — 

Since nothing earthly or divine 
In that dark hour can bring relief — 

How will you mourn o'er wasted bliss 

And that wild moment long for this ! 

The echo of a silent word, 

An exhalation of the dew, 
A lonely sigh at midnight heard 

In depth of some funereal yew — 
Those shall be more, in that black day, 
Than your true lover past away. 

Then do not scorn the present hour. 
Nor crush the roses while they bloom ! 

The best of time has only power 
To hang a garland on a tomb ; 

And all that lasts when years are sped 

Is hopeless memory of the dead. 



EELICS. 

The violets that you gave are dead — 
They could not bear the loss of you ; 



24 WANDERERS. 

The spirit of the rose has fled — 

It loved you, and its love v?as true : 
Back to your lips that spirit flies, 
To bask beneath your radiant eyes. 

Only the ashes bide \7ith me, 
The ashes of the ruined flowers — 

Types of a rapture not to be ; 
Sad relics of bewildering hours ; 

Poor, frail, forlorn, and piteous shows 

Of errant passion's wasted woes. 

He grandly loves who loves in vain : 
These withered flowers that lesson tea>.-. 

They suffered, they did not complain. 
Their life was love too great for speech : 

In silent pride their fate they bore ; 

They loved, they grieved, they died — no 
more ! 

Far off the purple banners flare. 
Beneath the golden morning spread : 

I know what queen is worshipped there, 
What laurels wreathe her lovely head : 

Her name be sacred, in my thought, 

And sacred be the grief she brought ! 

For, since I saw that glorious face. 
And heard the music of that voice, 



LOVE-LAND. 25 

Much beauty darkens in disgrace 

That used to make my heart rejoice ; 
And rose and violet ne'er can be 
The same that once they were to me. 



DEAD LEAVES. 

Not made by worth nor marred by flaw, 
Not won by good nor lost by ill, 

Love is its own and only law. 
And lives and dies by its own will. 

It was our fate and not our sin 

That we should love and love should win. 

Not bound by oath, nor stayed by prayer, 
Nor held by thirst of strong desire, 

Love lives like fragrance in the air, 
And dies as breaking waves expire. 

'Twas death, not falsehood, bade us part - 

The death of love that killed my heart. 

Not kind, as dreaming poets think. 

Nor merciful, as sages say — 
Love heeds not where its victims sink, 

When once its passion ebbs away. 
'Twas nature — it was not disdain — 
That made thee careless of my pain. 



26 WANDERERS. 

Not thralled by law nor ruled by right, 
Love keeps no audit with the skies : 

Its star, that once is quenched in night, 
Has set — and never more will rise. 

My soul is lost, by thee forgot, 

And there's no heaven where thou art not. 

But happy he, though scathed and lone, 
Who sees afar love's fading wings — 

Whose seared and blighted heart has 
known 
The splendid agony it brings I 

No life that is, no life to be, 

Can ever take the past from me ! 

Red roses bloom for other lives — 
Your withered leaves alone are mine : 

Yet, not for all that time survives 
Would I your heavenly gift resign — 

Now cold and dead, once warm and true, 

The love that lived and died in you. 



WHITE ROSES. 

More strange than death to all regrets. 
Love gives no tear to passion sped : 

Its frozen heart at once forgets 
The wronged, the absent, and the dead. 



LOVE-LAND. TJ 

We see the wave that Venus rides — 
We do not see the doom it hides. 

Fierce, boundless, fetterless, supreme, 
Eelentless, glorious, mindless, gay, 

Love grants us one supernal dream, 
One vision, one ecstatic day ; 

In fate's dull book one fiery page — 

Of bliss an hour, of woe an age. 

Be the red roses never more 
Companions to a thought of mine ! 

Behind me fades the lessening shore, 
Above the stars of midnight shine ; 

On black and dangerous seas they gleam. 

And life is done with doubt and dream. 

Pale spectral shapes of dead desire, 
Poor wandering souls of heavenly light, 

So lovely in your soft attire. 
So coldly pure, so sadly bright, 

Henceforth be angels of my fate, 

And take the life ye consecrate ! 

White roses for the cradled head. 
The bridal veil, the stainless pall ! 

When love and sin and grief are dead, 
Let the white roses shroud them all ! 

Ah ! bloom for me while time flows on, 

And guard my rest when I am gone. 



28 WANDEEKRS. 



THE BROKEN HARP.^ 

If this now silent harp could wake, 

How pure, how strong, how true 
The tender strain its chords would make 

Of love and grief for you ! 
But, like my heart, though faithful long, 

By you cast forth to pain. 
This hushed and humbled voice of song 

Must never stir again. 

Yet haply when your fancy strays 

O'er unregarded things. 
And haK in dream your gentle gaze 

Falls on its shattered strings, 
Some loving impulse may endear 

Your memories of the past. 
And if for me you shed one tear 

I think 'twould wake at last : 

Wake with a note so glad, so clear, 

So lovely, so complete 
That birds on wing would pause to hear 

Its music wild and sweet ; 
And you would know — alas ! too late — 

How tender and how true 
Is this fond heart, that hugs its fate — 

To die for love and you. 



■■"" '^^j^MMrWMffi^ 



LOVE-LAND. 29 



JUBEL. 

SuEGE up in wanton waves to-day, 
Ye menaories of a restless past ! 

In shine and shadow glance and play, — 
This golden moment is your last. 

Float, phantoms, o'er a sapphire sea, — 
Eemembered joy, remembered pain, 

Passions and fears that used to be. 
But never can be mine again ! 

Sweet visions, faded long ago. 
So beautiful, and once so dear, — 

That wrought alike my bliss and woe, — 
Your welcome and farewell are here. 

For now no more can fancy wile 
My steadfast heart with dreams untrue : 

I give you each a parting smile, 
I give you all a glad adieu. 

As one whose soul, on vibrant wings 
Of new-born freedom, mounts the skies, 

Spurning the earth, my spirit springs 
To scale the peaks of paradise. 

The sunshine wraps me in its arms, 
"Wild vdnds of power a,round me blow, 



30 WANDERERS. 

And heaven's ablaze with starry charms 
To bless the path whereon I go. 

For mine is now the ardent truth 
And secret of the lover's kiss ; 

The valley of immortal youth ; 
The sacred mountain-height of bliss ! 



VICTOEIA. 

Midnight and moonlight encircle her slum- 
bers, 

Pillowed, afar, on the wandering deep : 
Softly, ah softly, with tenderest numbers. 

Echoes of paradise, lull her to sleep ! 

Stars in your lustre and clouds in your 
fleetness. 
Mix round the gallant ship, breasting the 
gale ! 
Shed your sweet influence over her sweet- 
ness ! 
Guard every pinion and bless every sail ! 

Billows, roll gently, that bear on your 
bosom 
Treasure more precious than infinite 
gold — 



LOVE-LANB. 31 

Beauty in spring-time and love in its 'blos- 
som, 
All that my hungry heart longs to enfold. 

Ocean, that breaks on the rocks where I 
languish, 
Blessing and prayer on your surges to 
pour, 
Like, in your might, to my passionate an- 
guish. 
Shield her, and save her, and waft her to 
shore ! 

Angels, that float in the heavenly spaces, 
Ah, while you guide her through perils 
unknown. 
Still let the light of your beautiful faces 
Shine on her face that is fair as your 
own! 

Violets, welcome her ! roses, adore her — 
Blushing with rapture from mountain to 
sea ! 

Lilies, flash out on the meadows before her, 
Sparkle in glory, and ripple in glee ! 

Proudly she comes, like the pageant of 
morning 
Borne through the pearl-purpled gates of 
the day I 



32 WANDERERS. 

Darkness and sorrow, consumed in her 
scorning, 
Shrink from her splendour and vanish 
away. 

Scattered o'er mountain and forest and 
river, 
Far the dark phantoms of trouble are 
hurled : 
She will illuminate, she will deliver. 
She will redeem and transfigure the 
world 1 



AN ANGEL BEIDE. 

Hek young face is softly fair — 
Pearl of morning flushed with red - 

And the brown and silken hair 
Hovers mist-like round her head. 

Crimson lips, like rubies bright. 
Smiling, part o'er tiny pearls ; 

Little wandering stars of light 
Love to nestle in her curls. 

And her voice is soft and low, 
Clear as music and as sweet ; 



LOVE-LAND. 33 

Hearing it, you hardly know 
Where the sound and silence meet 

All the magic who can tell 

Of her laughter and her sighs, 
Or what heavenly meanings dwell 

In her kind, confiding eyes ! 

All her ways are winning ways, 

Pull of tenderness and grace ; 
And a witching sweetness plays 

Fondly o'er her gentle face. 

True and pure her soul within, — 

Breathing a celestial air ! 
Evil and the shame of sin 

Could not dwell a moment there. 

Is it but a vision, this ? 

Fond creation of the brain ? 
Phantom of a fancied bliss ? 

Type of beauty void and vain ? 

No ! the tides of being roll 

Toward a paradise to be, 
"Where this idol of my soul 

Waits and longs for love and me. 
c 



34 WANDERERS. 

A WISH. 

Think of me as your friend, I pray, 

And call me by a tender name : 
I will not care what others say, 

If only you remain the same ! 
I will not care how dark the night, 

I will not care how wild the storm : 
Your love will fill my heart with light, 

And shield me close, and keep me warm. 

Think of me as your friend, I pray, 

For else my life is little worth : 
So shall your memory light my way, 

Although we meet no more on earth : 
For while I know your faith secure, 

I ask no happier fate to see : 
Thus to be loved by one so pure 

Is honour rich enough for me. 



VIOLET. 

One name I shall not forget — 
Gentle name of Violet. 

Many and strange the years have sped : 
She who bore that name is dead : 



LOVE-LAND. 35 

Dead — and resting by the sea, 
Where she gave her heart to me : 

Dead — and now the grasses wave, 
And the dry leaves, o'er her grave, 

Bustling in the autumn wind, 
Like the sad thoughts in my mind. 

She was light and soon forgot ; 
Loved me well and loved me not : 

Changeful as the April sky — 
Kind or cruel, sad or shy ; 

Gray- eyed, winsome, arch, and fair — 
My youth's passion and despair. 

Now, through storms of many years, 
Now, through tender mist of tears. 

Looking backward, I can see 
She was always true to me. 

Yet, with prisoned tears that bum, 
Cold we parted, wayward, stem ; 

Spoke the fatal farewell word. 
Neither meant and neither heard ; 

Spoke — and parted in our pain, 
Nevermore to meet again. 

Sometimes, underneath the moon, 
On rose-laden nights of June, — 



36 WANDERERS. 

When white clouds drift o'er the blue, 
While the pale stars glimmer through, 

And the honeysuckle throws 
Fragrant challenge to the rose, 

And the liberal pine-tree flings 
Perfume on the midnight's wings, — 

Came, with thrills of hope and fear. 
Mystic sense that she was near ; 

Came the thought, — ' Through good and ill 
She loves, and she remembers still ! ' 

But no word e'er came or went ; 
And, when nine long years were spent, 

Something in my bosom said. 
Very softly, ' she is dead ! ' 

Now, at sombre autumn eve, 
Wandering where the woodlands grieve, 

Or where wild winds whistle free. 
On the hills that front the sea, 

Cruel thoughts of love and loss 
Nail my spirit to the cross. 

Friends have fallen, youth is gone, 
Fields are brown and skies are wan : 

One name I shall not forget — 
Gentle name of Violet. 



LOVE-LAND. yj 



CHAl^GED. 



It is not that she's far away 
That breaks my heart and dims my day ; 
It is that there is something gone 
Her passion used to dream upon ; 
That now the tender dream is o'er, 
And him she loved she loves no more. 



Her absence makes my spirit mourn — . 
Yet e'en her absence could be borne : 
But, — bleakest of all human grief, 
And desolate beyond relief, — 
One thought consumes my bosom's core — 
That him she loved she loves no more. 



The violets should be bluer far, 
The roses redder than they are. 
And lighter o'er the rippling grass 
The shadows of the clouds should pass. 
There's nothing as it was before — 
For him she loved she loves no more. 



38 ■WANDERERS. 

LOVE'S KEFUGE. 

I. 
Set your face to the sea, fond lover, — 

Cold in darkness the sea-winds blow ! 
"Waves and clouds and the night wiU cover 

All your passion and all your woe : 
Sobbing waves and the death within them, 

Sweet as the lips that once you prest — 
Pray that your hopeless heart may win 
them ! 

Pray that your weary life may rest 1 

II. 

Set your face to the stars, fond lover, — 

Calm, and silent, and bright, and true ! — 
They wUl pity you, they will hover 

Softly over the deep for you. 
Winds of heaven will sigh your dirges. 

Tears of heaven for you be spent ; 
Sweet, for you, will the murm'ring surges 

Pour the wail of their low lament. 



LOVE'S EEQUIEM. 
I. 
Being withered autumn leaves, 
Call everything that grieves. 



LOVE-LAND. 39 

And build a funeral pyre above his head ! 
Heap there all golden promise that de- 
ceives, 
Beauty, that wins the heart and then be- 
reaves, — 

For Love is dead. 



Not slowly did he die : 
A meteor from the sky 
Falls not so swiftly as his spirit fled, 
When, with regretful, half-averted eye, 
He gave one little smile, one little sigh. 
And so was sped. 



But oh, not yet, not yet 
"Would my lost soul forget 
How beautiful he was while he did live ; 
Or, when his eyes were dewy and lips wet, 
What kisses, tenderer than all regret. 
My love would give. 



Strew roses on his breast ! 
He loved the roses best; 



40 WANDERERS. 

He never cared for lilies or for snow. 
Let be this bitter end of his sweet quest ; 
Let be the pallid silence that is rest — 
And let all go ! 



THE UNDERTONE. 

It droops and dies in morning light — 
The rose that yesterday was whole : 

* Ah, whither, on the wind of night, 
Is borne the fragrance of my soul ? ' 

It sinks upon the ocean zone — 
The wind that marred the tender rose : 

' Ah, whither has the fragrance flown, 
And what shall give my soul repose ? ' 

It breaks upon the rocky shore — 
The vast, tumultuous, grieving sea : 

' Ah, never, never, never more 
Can love and peace come back to me ! ' 

It sobs, far up the lonely sky. 
It faints in regions of the blest — 

The endless, bitter, human cry, 
— And only Death could tell the rest. 



LOVE-LAND. 4I 



CONSTANCE. 

"With diamond dew the grass was wet, — 
'Twas in the spring and gentlest 
weather, — 

And all the birds of morning met, 
And carolled in her heart together. 

The wind blew softly o'er the land, 
And softly kissed the joyous ocean : 

He walked beside her on the sand. 
And gave and won a heart's devotion. 

The thistledown was in the breeze, 
With birds of passage homeward flying : 

His fortune lured him o'er the seas. 
And on the shore he left her, sighing. 

She saw his barque glide down the bay, 
Through tears and fears she could not 
banish ; 

She saw his white sails melt away — 
She saw them fade, she saw them vanish. 

And ' Go,' she said, ' for winds are fair, 
And love and blessing round you hover ; 

When you sail backward through the air, 
Then I will trust the word of lover.' 



42 WANDEKEKS. 

Stai ebbed, still flowed, the tide of years, 
Now chilled with snows, now bright with 
roses, 

And many smiles were turned to tears. 
And sombre morns had radiant closes. 

And many ships came sailing by, 

With many a golden promise freighted ; 

But nevermore from sea or sky 
Came love, to bless her heart that waited. 

Yet on, by tender patience led. 

Her sacred footsteps walked, unbidden. 

Wherever sorrow bows its head, 
Or want, and care, and shame are hidden. 

And they who saw her snow-white hair. 
And dark, sad eyes, so deep with feeling, 

Breathed all at once the chancel air 
And seemed to hear the organ pealing. 

TiU once, at shut of autumn day, 

In marble chill she paused and hearkened, 

With startled gaze where far away 
The wastes of sky and ocean darkened. 

There, for a moment, faint and wan, 
High up in air and landward striving. 



rOVE-LAND. 43 

Stem-fore a spectral barque came on, 
Across the purple sunset driving. 

Then something out of night she knew, 
Some whisper heard, from heaven de- 
scended, 

And peacefully as falls the dew 
Her long and lonely vigil ended. 

The violet and the bramble-rose 

Make glad the grass that dreams above 
her ; 
And, freed from time and all its woes, 

She trusts again the word of lover. 



APTER ALL. 

The apples are ripe in the orchard, 
The work of the reaper is done. 

And the golden woodlands redden 
In the blood of the dying sun. 

At the cottage door the grandsire 
Sits, pale, in his easy-chair, 

While a gentle wind of twilight 
Plays with his silver hair. 



44 WANDERERS. 

A woman is kneeling beside him ; 

A fair young head is prest, 
In the first wild passion of sorrow, 

Against his aged breast. 

And far from over the distance 

The faltering echoes come, 
Of the flying blast of trumpet 

And the rattling roll of drum. 

Then the grandsire speaks, in a whisper, — 

' The end no man can see ; 
But we give him to his country. 

And we give our prayers to Thee.' . . . 

The violets star the meadows. 

The rose-buds fringe the door, 
And over the grassy orchard 

The pink-white blossoms pour. 

But the grandsire's chair is empty, 

The cottage is dark and still, 
There's a nameless grave in the battle-field. 

And a new one under the hill. 

And a pallid, tearless woman 
By the cold hearth sits, alone ; 

And the old clock in the corner 
Ticks on with a steady drone. 



LOVE-LAND. 45 

NO MOKE. 

I. 
They walked teside the summer sea 

And watched the slowly dying sun ; 
And ' 0,' she said, ' come back to me, 

My love, my own, my only one ! ' 
But, while he kissed her fears away, 

The gentle waters kissed the shore. 
And, sadly whispering, seemed to say, 

He'll come no more ! he'll come no 
more ! 

II. 
Alone beside the autumn sea 

She watched the sombre death of day ; 
And ' 0,' she said, ' remember me, 

And love me, darling, far away ! ' 
A cold wind swept the wat'ry gloom. 

And, darkly whispering on the shore, 
Sighed out the secret of his doom, — 

He'll come no more ! he'll come no 
more ! 

III. 
In peace beside the winter sea 

A white grave glimmers to the moon ; 
And waves are fresh, and clouds are free, 

And shrill winds pipe a careless tune. 



46 WANDERERS. 

One sleeps beneath the dark blue wave, 
And one upon the lonely shore ; 

But, joined in love, beyond the grave, 
They part no more ! they part no more I 



THE LAST SCENE. 

Here she slumbers, white and chill ; 

Put your hand upon her brow ; 
Her sad heart is very still, 

And she does not know you now. 

Ah, the grave's a quiet bed ; 

She will sleep a pleasant sleep, 
And the tears that you may shed 

Will not wake her, — therefore weep 1 

Weep, — for you have wrought her woe ; 

Mourn, — she mourned and died for you: 
Ah, too late we come to know 

What is false and what is true ! 



EUE. 

The autumn wind is moaning in the leaves. 
And the long grass is rustling on my 
grave: 



LOVE-LAND. 47 

Ah, would you have me think your heart 
now grieves 
For her your waning passion would not 
save ? 

For I am dead ; know you not I am dead ? 
"Why will you haunt me iu my rest to- 
night, — 
Standing above, and listening overhead, 
"Where I am buried deep and out of 
sight ? 

Have you not wine and music, in your 
home, 
And her fair form, and eyes so pure and 
proud 
"With love of you ? and wherefore do you ' 
roam 
To vex me, lying silent in my shroud ? 

Seek your new love ! She calls you, and 
the tears 
Are warm on her pale face, and her young 
breast 
Is full of doubt and sorrow — for she 
hears 
Low-whispered words, that startle her 
from rest. 



48 WANDERERS. 

In from the night ! the storm begins to stir : 
I will be near, and ghostly eyes shall see 

How you will kiss her lips, and say to her, 
' Thine always, love,' as once you said to 
me. 



ASLEEP. 



He knelt beside her pillow, in the dead 

watch of the night, 
And he heard her gentle breathing, but her 

face was still and white. 
And on her poor, wan cheek a tear told 

how the heart can weep. 
And he said, 'My love was weary — God 

bless her ! she's asleep.' 



He knelt beside her grave-stone, in the 

shuddering autumn night. 
And he heard the dry grass rustle, and his 

face was thin and white. 
And through his heart the tremor ran of 

grief that cannot weep, 
And he said, ' My love was weary — God 

bless her ! she's asleep.' 



LOVE-LAND. 49 



EBB TIDE. 

In dusky gloom she sits apart, 
Beyond the moonlight's silver glow ; 

And tender fancies break her heart, 
That bloomed, and withered, long ago. 

Her patient eyes are wet with tears. 
Her face is pale with want and care, 

And all the griefs of all her years. 
Transfigured, crown her snowy hair. 

Gaunt sorrow claims her, heart and brain ; 

She bears the burden of the cross ; 
She hears a solemn dirge of pain. 

The sad, old song of love and loss. 

So glide the lonesome hours away : 
The song is still, the grief is past ; 

Alike to her are night and day — 
And life and trouble rest at last. 



II. 

TEMPEST. 



lMBWrnBH11HTfrt"*f"" 



II. 

TEMPEST. 



DOOM. 



A KAVEN flew over tlie house-top, 

In the gloaming that heralds the night : 

Far off snarled the threat of the thunder, 
And the raven he croaked in his flight. 

A raven flew over the house-top, 
And his shadow fell dark on my heart : 

A voice, in its innermost chamber. 
Said, ' The angel of love must depart.' 

Too long you are calm in the sunshine. 
And too long are the roses in bloom : 

Time now for the rush of the tempest, 
For the chill, and the blight, and the 
gloom.' . . . 

Deserted the house is and silent ; 

Night is drifting o'er woodland and wave : 
And love, that was life's consecration, 

Is a spectre that broods on a grave. 
53 



54 WANDERERS. 



CIRCE. 

It is the law of streams to run, 

Of autumn leaves to fall ; 
And she who has been false to one — 

She will be false to all. 

O, wild as tempest on the sea 

Is that poor lover's fate, 
Whose faithful spirit, bound to thee, 

Must hope, and fear, and wait ! 

By surge of joy and storm of pain 
His heart is soothed or broke ; 

He would not rend thy heavenly chain • 
He cannot bear thy yoke. 

There is no heaven so high as faith, 

No hell so deep as doubt. 
No haunted spectre like the wraith 

Thy fancies wile or flout ! 

Ah, let that tiger heart of thine, 

By brutish mercy led. 
To just one piteous act incline — 

And strike thy lover dead ! 



TEMPEST. 55 

Then, let the streams forever run, 

The leaves forever fall ! 
Thou wilt — at last — be true to one, 

And not be false to all. 



SEMPEE IDEM. 



This is the place where he brought her 
home, 

Home, — but not to his heart, I know : 
For it cannot be but her memories roam 

To the first and the true love, long ago ! 
Noble and lovely and wretched bride, 

Doomed, in her gorgeous palace of stone, 
Loveless forever, to sit by his side. 

And yet be, forever and ever, alone ! 



Noble and beautiful spirit of love ! 
Well, I can wish you were happy, — 
though 
I stand out here, while the stars above 
Are as white and cold as the ground 
below. 



56 WANDEKERS. 

I am glad that the splendour is all your 
own; 
I do not desire it — ah, not I ! 
But am well content, at the foot of your 
throne, 
To sink in the frozen street and die. 



Perhaps you would see me, then — who 
knows ? 
Perhaps you would see, in my haggard 
face. 
Whence they have risen — your subtle 
woes, 
And the something that saddens your 
stately grace. 
Perhaps — ah me, I am bold indeed ! — 
Perhaps you would touch me ! Heart 
and brain ! 
I am sure it would make the old wound 
bleed. 
If it did not wake me to life again ! 



Lost — but I love you, all the same : 

'Twas a faithful heart that you threw 
away : 



TEMPEST. 57 

I can say it now, and with nothing of shame, 
Tor I shall not live to another day. 

I can say, though the night of grief was long, 
That the light of morning struggles 
through ; 

And, lifted out of my sorrow and wrong, 
K I cannot live, I can die, for you ! 



ACEOSS THE PALL. 

Now she lies here, dead before you, 
Motionless and gray as stone ; 

Now the cruel grief broods o'er you. 
Stricken, agonised, and lone ; 

Now that passion's dream is past, 

"Well it is we meet at last ! 

Ay, you loved her — loved her truly — 
With the utmost faith of man ; 

Sacrificing aU things, duly. 
As a noble lover can ! 

And she made you — what I see ; 

What 'tis well that you can be. 

Loved her ! Virtue, truth, and honour. 
Sense, and manhood — what are they ? 



S8 WANDERERS. 

Stand up here and look upon her 1 

'Tis a pretty piece of clay. 
Others, quite as fond and true, 
Loved her, quite as well as you. 

So I pity you, poor dreamer 

(Dreams, the longest, are not long), 

And I would not make it seem her 
Guilt, that e'er she did me wrong. 

She was heavenly — cloud and star — 

She was what the angels are. 

Hope and wait ; and when you meet her, 
With them, in the Eden plain. 

Clasp her to your soul, and greet her 
With a word of noble pain. 

Tell her, in yon starry cope, 

That I taught you how to hope. 

Time and tide flow on forever ; 

Pleasure's ghost is always pain ; 
Life is fevered with endeavour. 

Sad with loss and sweet with gain. 
But there is no certain bliss 
In this world for only this. 

Look up bravely where, forgiven. 
Erring hearts repentant rest : 



_aJ^ 



TEMPEST. 59 

Only love and trust find heaven ! 
Still the faithful are the blest : 
Faithful love, that ransoms you, 
Well may save your idol too. 

But, for me there is no morrow, 
Crown of love nor crown of fame : 

I must tread a mighty sorrow 
In the mire of sensual shame. 

Down I grovel on the earth. 

Wasting toward a brutish birth. 

'Tis a world of commonplaces, 
Empty hearts, and shallow brains, 

Flaunting fools with specious faces. 
Black desires and crimson stains : 

When I found that heart untrue, 

Love itself was falsehood too. 

Always round us are the curses. 
And the long, tumultuous roar : 

We are jostled in our hearses, 
Even as we were before. 

They alone escape the strife 

Who attain the spirit's life. 

Hope, I say, till you receive her ; 
Hope, — for we are only men. 



60 WANDERERS. 

Lay her in the grave, and leave her 
Just your heart, to keep till then. 
Take my blessing — for I know 
All your love and all your woe. 



THE YELLOW EOSE. 
I. 

Ah, had we met in other days, before my 

soul had known 
What 'tis to smile o'er ruined hopes, in 

mockery and alone, 
Perchance it then had been my lot, which 

now can never be. 
To make thy heart, that beats for none, 

beat warm and true for me. 



But now the shadows round my way are 
gathering dark and grim. 

The wind blows coldly off the shore, the 
lights are growing dim. 

The angry waters rage and roar, and head- 
long through the night 

From love, from hope, from thee, my 
barque goes plunging out of sight. 



6i 



III. 
And so I waft my fond farewell across the 

darkening brine : 
Thy heart can never, never bring the peace 

of love to mine : 
There is no peace for evermore, iq earth or 

heaven, for me — 
But, oh, if this could once have been, how 

lovely life would be ! 

IV. 

I see thee on the distant shore, in all thy 

glittering grace, 
The sunshine streaming round thy form, 

and hope upon thy face ; 
And I shall see those glorious eyes and hear 

that voice divine 
Till fate has stilled this wayward heart, — 

but true till death to thine. 

V. 

Nor chance nor change can ever dim the 

glory of that brow ; 
The light will shine forever there that 

shines upon thee now ; 
And tempest-tossed and far away upon the 

sea of sin 
I yet shall know, though lost to me, there 

was a heaven to win. 



62 WANDERERS. 

TI. 

I did not think that time or grief could 

ever break the pride 
That lets my soul reveal the truth it now 

no more can hide, 
But lonely o'er the wreck of youth its fires 

are burning yet — 
And, well for me if I had died or ever we 

had met ! 



THE WRECKER'S BELL. 



There's a lurid light in the clouds to-night, 

In the wind there's a desolate moan ; 
And the rage of the furious sea is white. 

Where it beats on the crags of stone : 
Stand here at my side, and look over the 
tide. 

And say if you hear it, — the sullen knell, 
Faint, from afar, on the harbour-bar. 

The hollow boom of the wrecker's bell. 
For I cannot hear — I am cold with fear — 

Ah, leave me not alone ! 
For I'm old, I'm old, and my blood is cold, 

And I fear to be alone. 



TEMPEST. 63 

II. 

With a shudder I saw his ashen face, 

In that wild and fearful night — 
For his blazing eyes illumed the place 

With a terrible, ghastly light ; 
And ever his long locks floated out, 

As white as the foam of the sea ; 
And the great waves dashed on the rocks 
about 

With a mad and cruel glee. 
But I stood by his side, and looked over 
the tide, 

And faintly I heard that solemn knell, 
Faint, from afar, on the harbour-bar, 

The hollow boom of the wrecker's bell. 

III. 
It is but the clang of the signal bell, 

That floats through the midnight air: 
For many a year in the surging sweU 

Has the old bell sounded there. 
When the storm in his might rides through 
the night 

And his steeds in thunder neigh. 
Then its iron tongue is swayed and swung, 

And plunged in the angry spray ; 
And so when the summer skies are bright, 

And the breakers are at play. 



64 WANDEHERS. 

But wherefore is it you stay me here, 

And why do you shudder and moan, 
And what are the nameless shapes you 
fear 

In this desolate place alone ? 
For your eyes are set in a dreadful glare, 

And you shrink at the solemn knell, 
As it trembles along the midnight air — 

The boom of the wrecker's bell. 



Look up, he cried, to the awful sky, 

Look over the furious sea, 
And mark, as the grinning fiends float 

fey, 

How they beckon and howl to me ! 
They are ringing my knell with the baleful 
bell, 
And they gloat on the doom to be. 
Ah 1 give me your hand, and look not 
back — 
We stand not here alone — 
And the horrible shapes that throng my 
track 
"Would turn your heart to stone. 
The spell of the dead is on the hour. 
And I yield my soul to its fearful power. 



6s 



A face looks forth in the darkness there, 

A young face, sweet with a rosy light : 
The sunshine sleeps in her golden hair, 

And her violet eyes are softly bright : 
On her parted lips there's an innocent smile. 

Like a sunbeam kissing a velvet rose ; 
And her cheeks of pearl grow warm the 
while, 

With a delicate blush that comes and 
goes. 
Ah ! purer than morn in its purest hour, 

And holy as one from an angel clime, 
Was the tender woman, the beautiful 
flower, 

I loved and lost in the far-off time. 



One fatal night, in the long ago, 

My gallant cruiser passed that bar. 
In a bank of clouds the moon hung low. 

And the sombre sky showed scarce a star. 
The night was calm, but I heard iu the 
swell 

A murmur of storm, and, far away, 
The muffled toll of the wrecker's bell, 

As it floated up from the outer bay. 

E 



66 WANDEKEKS. 

And a look of hate in the waiting waves 
Spoke to my soul of a place of graves. 



I watched them there, as I stood at the 

wheel, — 
The happy lover, the radiant bride, — 
And the wasting fever of frantic pain 
And jealous hatred burnt my brain ; 
And I felt what only demons feel. 
For the man who walked by that woman's 

side. . . . 
Nothing they thought of danger then. 
Or the schemes and crimes of wicked men. 
Lost in a wordless dream of bliss. 
And consecrate with marriage kiss. 
What could those innocent creatures know 
Of the burning hate, the maddening woe 
And the deadly purpose of blind despair, 
In the heart of the fiend beside them there ! 



An hour had passed — he stood alone, 
I thought no creature saw the blow 
That felled him, senseless as a stone. 
Or heard the pitiful, low moan, 
His death-sigh, as he sank below 



67 



These very waters where they flow 
Around that vengeful bell. 
But joy, like grief, will vigils keep, 
And love hath eyes that never sleep, 

And secret tongues that tell. 
She passed like some swift bolt of light, 
A heavenly angel robed in white ! 
One dazzUng gleam, one cry so shriU 
That sea and sky and this lone hill 
Are echoing with its anguish stiU — 
And she had leaped into the night : 
And on her murdered lover's breast 
In the same wave she sunk to rest. 



That moment o'er the sky 
Flamed the red wrath of such a storm 
As might enwreathe the avenger's form 

When howling fiends defy. 
No ship could live in the gale that blew. 
And mine went down, with all her crew ■ 

I only left alive : 
Spurned upward out of weltering hell 
To that same reef where swings the bell 
That, ever since, with fateful spell 
Hath drawn me by its hideous knell, 

I breathed, and ceased to strive — 



68 "WANDERERS. 

I, whom the lightning will not rend, 
Nor waves engulf, nor death befriend, 
Nor holy father shrive ! . . . 



There's a lurid light in the clouds to-night, 
In the wind there's a desolate moan ; 

But the waves roll soft on the sand so white, 
And break on the crags of stone ; 

And the sea-gulls scream in their frolic 
flight, 
And all my dream is flown. 

But, far away in the twilight gloom, 

I still can hear it, the muf&ed boom, — 

And it seems to be ringing a dead man's 
knell, — 

Solemn and slow, of the wrecker's bell. 



ACCOMPLICES. 

Black rocks upon the ragged coast. 
Mutter no more our hidden crime 1 

I hear, far off, your sullen boast. 
But I defy you ! 'tis not time ! 

You cannot tell our secret yet ; 
The trusty sea must keep its dead, 



TEMPEST. 69 

And many suns arise and set 
Before that awful word is said. 

Eor I am young ; I've all the grace 
Of life, and love, and beauty now : 

There's not a wrinkle on my face ; 
There's not a shadow on my brow. 

I cannot bear the loathsome grave, 
I will not leave the cheerful sun ! 

Rave on ! in storm and midnight rave, 
Eor years and years, till all is done : 

TiU these brown locks are changed to gray ; 

Till these clear eyes are dim and old ; 
Not yet, not yet the fatal day 

When all that horror must be told ! 

But, then — gnash all your jagged teeth, 
And howl for vengeance ! I wiU come ; 

And that same cruel pit beneath 

Shall yawn and gulf me to my home. 

To-day — forbear, nor mutter more ! 

The sky is dark, and dark the sea, 
And all the land, from shore to shore, 

Is hideous with your grisly glee. 



70 WANDERERS. 

PREDESTINED. 

A CALM cold face as white and. clear 
As marble, and as passionless : 

Eyes darkly sad, that tell no fear, 
No hope, no pleasure, no distress : 

A smile, that seems all o'er to sleep, 
As sleeps a sunbeam on a stone ; 

A gentle voice, but soft and deep, 
And full of music, every tone : 

A courtly manner, — he is true 

To social usage, and will pay 
To all the world its proper due 

Of graceful, stately courtesy : — 

Behold, an awful thought it is 
That such a ghastly, gaunt despair 

Can wear a shape so grand as this, 
A face so noble and so fair ! 

For that is not a common grief 

Which tears his heart and burns his 
brain 
Who feels eternity too brief 

For his tremendous trance of pain ! 



TEMPEST. 71 

Whose soul endures infernal woes, 
Enchained by some infernal spell ; 

Who knows not peace, but only knows 
The lurid, withering fires of hell ! 



OEGIA.2 

Who cares for nothing alone is free, — 
Sit down, good fellow, and drink with me ! 

With a careless heart and a merry eye 
He laughs at the world as the world goes 
hy. 

He laughs at power, and wealth, and fame ; 
He laughs at virtue, he laughs at shame ; 

He laughs at hope, and he laughs at fear ; 
At memory's dead leaves, crisp and sere ; 

He laughs at the future, cold and dim, — 
Nor earth nor heaven is dear to him, 

O, that is the comrade fit for me ! 
He cares for nothing, his soul is free ; 

Free as the soul of the fragrant wine — 
Sit down, good fellow, my heart is thine I 



72 WANDEEEKS. 

For I heed not custom, creed, nor law ; 
I care for nothing that ever I saw. 

In every city my cups I quaff, 

And over the chalice I riot and laugh, 

I laugh, like the cruel and turbulent wave ; 
I laugh at the church, and I laugh at the 
grave. 

I laugh at joy, and well I know 
That I merrily, merrily laugh at woe ; 

I terribly laugh, with an oath and a sneer, 
When I think that the hour of death ia 
near. 

For I know that death is a guest divine, 
Who shall drink my blood as I drink this 
wine. 

And he cares for nothing ! a king is he — 
Come on, old fellow, and drink with me ! 

With you I will drink to the solemn past, 
Though the cup that I drain should be my 
last. 

I will drink to the phantoms of love and 

truth ; 
To ruined hopes and a wasted youth. 



TEMPEST. 73 

I will drink to the woman who wrought my 

woe, 
In the diamond morning of long ago : 

To a heavenly face, in sweet repose, 

To the lUy's snow and the blood of the rose ; 

To the splendour, caught from orient skies, 
That thrilled in the dark of her hazel eyes, — 

Her large eyes, wild with the fire of the 

south, — 
And the dewy wine of her warm, red mouth. 

I will drink to the thought of a better time ; 
To innocence, gone like a death-bell chime. 

I will drink to the shadow of coming doom ; 
To the phantoms that wait in my lonely 
tomb. 

I will drink to my soul, in its terrible mood, 
Dimly and solemnly understood : 

And, last of all, to the monarch of sin, 
Who scaled its rampart and reigns within. 

My sight is fading — it dies away — 
I cannot tell is it night or day. 



74 WANDERERS. 

My heart is burnt and blackened with pain, 
And a horrible darkness crushes my brain. 

I cannot see you — the end is nigh — 
But we'll laugh together before I die. 

Through awful chasms I plunge and fall — 
Your hand, good fellow, — I die — that's aU. 



EEEBUS. 

There's a mossy sunken grave, 
In the solemn land of dreams, 

All alone ; 
Where the dusky branches wave 
O'er the banks of sable streams, 

"With a moan : 
A dull sky spans it overhead, 

Like a tomb ; 
The wan stars glimmer far away 

In the gloom ; 
And a pale moon gleams 
On the haunts of the dead. 
Where the ghouls and the demons play. 
And the souls that wander here 
See each other very clear ; 
And remember, — but weep not ! 
Eemember, — but sleep not 1 

Kemember, — but cannot pray ! 



III. 

LOVE AND DEATH. 



i 



III. 

LOVE AND DEATH. 



LOVE AND DEATH.* 



Angel of Grief ! thy spectral passage 
winging 
Above black waves and under moonless 
skies, 
Where nevermore is heard the voice of sing- 
ing, 
Nor any light e'erfallsfrom beauty's eyes, 
Now wave thy sable pinion where he lies 
Whom to destroy thy fancy did create I 
In diamond pomp thy summons bade him 
rise, 
And thine the blight that cursed his human 

state 
And left him ocean-tost, forlorn, and deso- 
late. 

77 



78 WANDEREBS. 



Man lives not as he would, but as he must ! 

Deep in his soul the current of his doom 
Euns darkly ; that this clod of fevered dust, 

Desiring heaven, and drifting to a tomb, 

Wantons in revelry, or droops in gloom, 
Exults in action, falters in defeat, 

E'en as thy spirit doth its life illume. 
Making its blood a torrent fierce and fleet. 
Or as some stagnant pool where death and 
darkness meet. 



Thou didst create this being all of fire. 
But 'twas not all from heaven ; the grosser 
flame 
Glowed with the finer, — till his mad desire 
Revelled in wild delights, contemning 

shame 
And staining the white crest of noble 
fame : 
Yet all the while thy spirit fed his heart 
With wildering dreams and hopes, till he 
became 
A soul of thy dark strain, and dwelt 

apart, — 
The visionary child of genius and of art. 



LOVK AND DEATH. 79 



From earliest youth his spirit kept its throne 
By the sea's marge, or on the mountain 
height, 
Or in the forest deeps, or meadow lone, 
Where the long shadows fall, as comes 

the night, 
And spectral shapes gleam on the startled 
sight 
And vanish with low sighs: the darkling 
caves 
That line the murm'rous shore were his 
delight, 
Where the defeated billow chafes and raves, 
And much he loved the stars that shine on 
lonely graves. 



By night he roamed along the haunted 
shore. 
And on the vacant summit of the hills 
Held converse with the vast ; while ever- 
more 
The awful mystery with which nature 

thrills, — 
Whispering the poet's heart, and thence 
distils 



80 WANDEEEKS. 

The essence of her beauty, — wrapt his soul, 
Buoyant and glorious, with such power 

as fills 
The dread expanse where sky and ocean 

roll. 
Thought measureless, supreme, and feeling 

past control. 



Among the haunts of men a wanderer still. 
He walked a dusky pathway, all his own ; 
For men were not his mates — their good, 
their ill 
Were things by him unfelt, to him un- 
known — 
An empty laughter or an idle moan ; 
And they that saw him passed him coldly by, 
And thus he roved his shadowy world 
alone, — 
A world of haunting shapes and phantasy. 
And life a dream that longed yet dreaded 
more to die. 



This is the bitter close — that in their flow. 
The stern years ravage from us, one by 
one, 



LOVE AND DEATH. 8 1 

Each hope that sanctifies a life of woe, 
All that is fair and bright beneath the 

sun, 
And that sweet faith with which our days 
begun ; 
Till not one glimmering ray from heavenly 
spheres, 
O'er longings thwarted and high aims un- 
done, 
Gilds the bleak stream of those remorseless 

years, 
And quenched the spring of joy, and dried 
the fount of tears. 



Close, close around us draws the prison 
shade 
And ever closer, as our moments glide — 
The iron web of doom ourselves have made, 
By fealty to the power which doth reside 
"Within ourselves, not once to be denied. 
Nor curbed, nor conquered ! Action doth 
but make 
A past to be remembered ; and the pride 
Of mightiest will that would life's guidance 

take 
Must, like the frailest heart, at last repine 
and break. 



82 WANDERERS. 

IX. 

This fate was his — but not in darkness all 
Ean the wild current of his days and 
deeds ; 
Still on the ruined fane the moonlight falls, 
And still the radiant dawn the night suc- 
ceeds, 
And his the gentlest heart that soonest 
bleeds, 
And thus the first to love and to be blest 

With that great glory of all human needs 
Which, whether crowned or martyred, still 

is best — 
The angel regnant once within the human 
breast. 

X. 

To love and to be loved — to have the bliss, 

The perfect heaven of one responsive 

soul ; 

To feel the throbbing heart, the burning 

kiss, 

When thought and feeling, loosed from all 

control. 
Like torrents to the sea tumultuous roll, 
And life becomes all rapture — this he knew ! 
And, knowing this, however fate may dole 
Her mercies forth, the many or the few. 
No flower is left to bloom that e'er in Eden 
grew. 



LOVE AND DEATH. S^ 



He loved — he lost — and from that fatal 
hour 
His soul was haunted by one heavenly 
face ; 
One sacred name had evermore the power 
To shed a glory upon every place 
And gild each moment with a deathless 
grace ! — 
His heart had worshipped and his quest had 
found, 
And now, though cold and empty his 
embrace, 
His lonely footsteps fell on holy ground, 
With angel shapes and tones forever circling 
round. 



The dying light of sunset ; the low sigh 
Of whispering winds that stir the faller 
leaves ; 
The golden host of stars ; the midnight sky ; 
The mystic sea, that not exults nor grieves ; 
The rosy magic of the dawn that weaves 
Its web of beauty, fading while it grows, — 
All that they mean the hallowed heart 
receives. 



84 WANDERERS. 

Sealed with the sacrament that grief be- 
stows, 

And all that nature has of tender mystery 
knows. 



Angel of Sorrow ! though thy fevered hand 

Drop on the stricken heart a cross of fire ; 

Though gloom and sighs and tears, a grisly 

band, 

"Watch round his midnight couch till hope 

expire ; 
Though faith give o'er, and heavenly 
patience tire. 
And naught remain but bitter, bleak despair, 
Yet dost thou lift thy hapless victim 
higher ! — 
With nothing left to lose, he all may dare ! 
Who scorns the dart of death heeds not the 
frown of care ! 



His o'er-fraught bosom and his haunted 
brain 
Gave out their music and then ceased to 
be — 
A strange, a weird, a melancholy strain, 
Like the low moaning of the distant sea I 



LOVE AND DEATH. 85 

And when death harshly set his spu-it free 
From frenzied days and penury and blight, 
At least 'twas tender mercy's kind de- 
cree, — 
Shrining his name in memory's living light. 
With thoughts that gild the day and charm 
the lingering night. 



He was the voice of beauty and of woe, 
Passion and mystery and the dread un- 
known ; 
Pure as the mountains of perpetual snow, 
Cold as the icy winds that round them 

moan, 
Dark as the caves wherein earth's thun- 
ders groan. 
Wild as the tempests of the upper sky, 

Sweet as the faint, far-off, celestial tone 
Of angel whispers, fluttering from on high, 
And tender as love's tear when youth and 
beauty die. 



Oh, if he sinned he suffered ! Let him rest. 
Who, in this world, had little but its pain ! 

The life of patient virtue still is blest — 
But there be bosoms powerless to restrain 



86 WANDERERS. 

The surging tempests of the heart and 
brain ; 
Souls that are driven madly o'er the deep, 
Their passions fatal and their struggle 
vain ; 
Men that in nameless grief their vigils keep, 
With marble lips, and eyes that burn but 
cannot weep. 



Far from the blooming field and fragrant 
wood, 
The shining songster of the summer sky, 
O'er ocean's black and frightful solitude 
Driven on broken wing, must sink and die ; 
So on the ocean of eternity, 
Far from man's help and all things bright 
and warm, 
Broken and lost, but with no lingering 
sigh — 
For death, at last, is peace — his ravaged 

form 
Sank in the weltering wave, and no more 
felt the storm. 

XVIII, 

His music dies not — nor can ever die — 
Blown round the world by every wander- 
ing wind. 



LOVE AND DEATH. 87 

The comet, lessening in the midnight sky, 
Still leaves its trail of glory far behind. 
Death cannot quench the lustre of the 
mind, 
Nor hush the seraph song that beauty sings ; 

Still in the poet's soul must nature find 
Her voice for every secret that she brings, 
To all that dwell beneath the brooding of 
her wings. 



The silent waves of time's eternal sea 

EoU o'er the silent relics of the dead ; 
But, wafted on those waters, wide and free. 
How bright, how fleet his starry songs are 

sped 1 
Black gleams the deep beneath, but over- 
head 
All heaven is glorious with its orbs of light. 
While, like a spirit loosed from ocean's 
bed, 
Lo ! one clear echo, sounding through the 

night, 
Floats up the crystal slopes of life's far 
mountain-height. 



IV. 
PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. 



IV. 
PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. 



AFTER LONG YEARS. 

Dear heart, and true, in the seasons fled, 
Has the world swept by me, and left me 
dead? 

Have the pansies withered, I used to know ? 
Are the roses faded, of long ago ? 

Do the tapers glimmer, that lit the feast ? 
Has the pageant passed ? has the music 
ceased ? 

And, musing here on the sea-beat coast. 
Am I living man, or a wandering ghost ? 

Still in the scent of the autumn air 
I feel a rapture that's like despair: 

91 



92 WANDERERS , 

The starlight, pale on the sleepmg sea, 
Is a nameless, sorrowful joy to me : 

And, lit by orb or crescent of night, 
Meadow and woodland are brave to sight. 

Still I bend to the mystic power 
Of the strange sea-breeze and the breath of 
flower ; 

And the face of beauty wakes the wraith 
Of holy passion and knightly faith 1 

But, ever I hear an undertone — 
A subtle, sorrowful, wordless moan ; 

The dying note of a funeral bell ; 
The faltering sigh of a last farewell : 

And ever I see, through lurid haze. 
The sombre phantoms of other days ; 

In light that's sad as the ruin it frets, — 
The solemn light of a sun that sets. 

Ah, never now does youth dream on 

As it used to dream in the summers gone I 

For round it dashes the tide of years ; 
Its eyes are darkened with mist of tears ; 



PANSIES AND ROSEMAKY. 93 

Its hopes are sere as the fading grass, 
And nothing it wished has come to pass. 

Yet ever, in wayward, passionate power, 
Like a wind that moans through a mined 
tower, 

O'er memory's darkening fields along 
It rustles the fallen leaves of song : 

And, wild in the heart, it wakes the thrill 
That nothing but death can ever still ! 



THE HARBINGEE. 

I. 
Ordained to work the heavenly will 

Comes a bright angel, sent from far ; 
And nature feels another thrill, 

And love has lit another star. 

II. 
Earth was more beautiful because of him. 
Wild flowers were born ; 
And limpid, bickering brooks, 
The poet's earliest books. 
Spoke of a new delight 
Unto the morn : 



94 WANDERERS. 

And, in the fragrant night, 
When fairies, sporting underneath the moon, 
In airy glee 
And revelry, 
Make the wide darkness heautifully "bright, 
Like brightest noonday in the heart of June, 
Every billow laughed, and after 
Seemed to chase its nimble laughter ; 
Till spent, 

With emxilous merriment. 
It sunk to sleep in some secluded, cool, 
And black and lucent pool. 



On meadows starred with daisies 
The wild bee swooned, in mazes 
Of witching odour, richer far 
Than spikenard, rose, and jasmine are. 
All natural objects seemed to catch a rare 

and precious gleam. 
Unknowing why, the happy birds 
Trilled out their hearts in seeming joyous 

words, 
All indistinct, though sweet, to mortal 

ears ; 
Such as a poet hears, 
With joy and yet with tears. 



PANSIE8 AND ROSEMARY. 95 

In some ethereal reverie, half vision and 

half dream. 
Through breezy tree-tops jocund voices 

thrilled, 
And, deep in slumberous caverns of the 

ocean, 
Wild echo heard, and with an airy 

motion 
Tossed back the greeting of a heart o'er- 

filled 

With gladness, and that speaks it o'er and 
o'er, 

Till bliss can say no more. 
The waves that whispered on the Ustening 

sands 
Told the glad tidings unto many lands, 
And the stars heard, and from their wan- 

dering isles 
Dropt down the blessing of their golden 

smiles. 

rv. 

Touched by the lightning of the Maker's eyes 

He spake in prophecies, 
Interpreting the earth, the sea, the skies — 

All that in nature is of mystery, 
And that in man is dark, 

All that the perfect future is to be, 



96 WANDERERS. 

When quenched our mortal spark 
And souls imprisoned are at last set free. 
Backward he gazed, across the eternal sea, 
And on the ever-lessening shores of time 
Saw ghosts of ruined empires wandering 

slow. 
Then, onward looking, saw the radiant 
bow 
Of promise, shining o'er a heavenly clime. 
And thus he knew of life its mystic truth — 
Hope, with perpetual youth. 
And that wherein all doubt and trouble 

cease. 
Sweet child of patience, peace. 



And now came death, a gentle, welcome 

guest. 
And touched his hand and led him into 

rest. 
Time paid its tribute to eternity — 
A great soul, ripe for the immortal day — 
And earth embraced his ashes: cold their 

bed. 
For now the aggd year was also dead. 
The winter wind shrieked loud, with hoarse 

alarms, 
The keen stars shivered in the midnight 

air. 



PAKSIES AKD ROSEMARY. 97 

And the bare trees stretclied forth their 
stiffened arnas 
To the wan sky, in pale and speechless 
prayer. 

VI. 

Speak softly here, and softly tread, 
For all the place is holy ground 

Where nature's love enshrines her dead, 
And earth with blessing folds them round. 

He rests at last : the world far-off 

May riot in her mad excess, 
But now her plaudit and her scoff 

To him alike are nothingness. 

He learned in depths where virtue fell. 
The heights to which the soul may rise : 

He sounded the abyss of hell. 
He scaled the walls of paradise. 

What else ? Till every wandering star 
In heaven's blue vault be cold and dim, 

Our faithful spirits, following far, 
Walk in the light that falls from him. 



HOMEWAED BOUND. 

On roseate shores, in evening's glow, 
With pulsing music soft and sweet, 

G 



90 WANDERERS. 

While winds of summer gently blow, 
The waves of time's great ocean beat; 

No cloud obscures the heavenly dome, 
And only on the shining sea 

The tossing crests of silver foam 
Presage the tempest yet to be. 

Low down upon the ocean's verge, 

Blent with the waters and the skies, 
Far, far across the sounding surge, 

The golden city's towers arise : 
Fair in the sunset light they gleam, 

Youth's chosen realm, bold manhood's 
goal. 
The promised land of fancy's dream, 

The golden city of the soul ! 

How softly bright, how purely cold, 

Those domes and pinnacles of bliss ! 
How radiant, through its gates of gold. 

That world of rapture smiles on this ! 
How glorious, in the dying day. 

O'er bastion ridge and glimmering moat, 
Through rainbow clouds and rosy spray, 

Its purple banners flash and float ! 

There, safe from every mortal ill. 
Waits every wasted wish of man ; 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. 99 

The hopes that time could, ne'er fulfil, 
And only death and nature can I 

There peace shall touch the eyes of grief. 
And mercy soothe the heart of pain ; 

And every bud, and flower, and leaf 
That withered here shall bloom again ! 

Ah, sailor to the golden realm, 

With hope's glad haven clear before, 
Why muse beside the idle helm. 

With listless glances back to shore ? 
Night hovers o'er his trackless way, 

To blot the stars and dim the land ; 
What voice is at his heart, to stay 

The signal wafture of his hand ? 

Not thus, in other days, his soul 

Of power and trust could wander back — 
But saw the mists of time unroll, 

And angels throng the shining track ; 
Heard mystic voices, from afar, 

Of warders on the sacred coast ; 
Sprang up to meet the morning star 

And mingle with the heavenly host. 

But he has borne the rage of storms. 
Through many a slow and patient year, 

Still following those celestial forms 
That beckon and elude him here : 



100 WANDEKEilS. 

Till doubt has dimmed his eager gaze, 
And toil subdued his ardent mind, 

And sorrow burdened all his days 

With quest of peace he could not find. 

Her kiss is cold upon his lips, 

Who swore to be forever true ; 
His eyes have seen youth's phantom ships 

Fade down beyond the distant blue ; 
His hand has cleared the gathering moss 

From many a tablet, cold and white, 
Where, dark with sense of doom and loss, 

His comrades sleep, in starless night. 

The wayward shafts of cruel fate, 

That strike the best and purest lives ; 
The curse of blessings come too late ; 

The broken faith that life survives ; 
Love's frail pretence, ambition's lure, 

Malignant envy's poisoned dart, 
That wounds and tortures, past a cure, 

The mangled, seared, embittered heart ; — 

The weary, wistful, sad repose 

Of ardour quenched and feeling sped ; 

The arid calm he only knows 

Whose hope is — like his idols — dead ; 

All that repentant spirits bear. 
For sin and folly past recall ; 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. lOI 

Remorse, endurance, patience, care — 
His soul has known and borne them all. 

Ah, touch him gently, winds of night. 

And ocean odours, vague and strange. 
Revive his mom of young delight — 

Supreme o'er doubt, and fear, and 
change ! 
The fading tints of life restore. 

The wasted fires of youth relume, 
And round his radiant path once more 

Let music sound and roses bloom ! 

Long has he gazed in nature's eyes. 

Long kept the faith her glory yields, — 
The pageant of the starry skies. 

The flowery pomp of spangled fields, 
The fragrant depth of woodland ways, 

White in the moon, or dusk and dim, 
And lonely mountain tops that blaze 

Through sunset lustre, vast and grim. 

Long has he bowed at nature's shrine — 
Shall nature's soul desert him now ? 

Ah ! shine again, thou star divine. 
And touch with light his darkening 
brow ! 

Though pleasures pall, though idols fall. 
Though wisdom end in long regret, 



102 WANDERERS. 

Death's glorious conquest pays for all, 
And He who made will not forget ! . . . 

The day is done, the storm is free, 

And night and danger ride the gale ; 
But, bravely speeding, far at sea, 

Gleams, white and clear, a lessening saU ! 
One moment seen, now lost to sight, 

'Mid driving cloud and ocean's roar ; 
But, steered by Mercy's beacon-light. 

He yet shall reach the golden shore. 



BEAUTY. 

I HAi> a dream, one glorious, summer night, 
In the rich bosom of imperial June. 
Languid I lay upon an odorous couch. 
Golden with amber, festooned wildly o'er 
"With crimson roses ; and the longing stars 
Wept tears of light upon their clustered 

leaves. 
Above me soared the azure vault of heaven, 
Vast and majestic ; cinctured with that 

path 
Whereby, perchance, the sea-born Venus 

found 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. I03 

Her way to higher spheres ; that path which 

seems 
A coronet of silver, gemmed with stars, 
And bound upon the forehead of the night. 
There, as I lay, the musical south wind 
Shook all the roses into murmurous life. 
And poured their fragrance o'er me, in a 

shower 
Of crimson mist ; and softly, through the 

mist. 
Came a low, sweet, enchanting melody, 
A far-off echo from the land of dreams. 
Which with delicious languor filled the air. 
And steeped in bliss the senses and the 

soul. 
Then rose a shape, a dim and ghostly shape, 
Whereto no feature was, nor settled form, 
A shadowy splendour, seeming as it came 
A pearly summer cloud, shot through and 

through 
With faintest rays of sunset ; yet within 
A spirit dwelt ; and, floating from within, 
A murmur trembled sweetly into words : — 
I am the ghost of a most lovely dream. 
Which haunted, in old days, a poet's mind. 
And long he sought for, wept, and prayed 

for me ; 
And searched through all the chambers of 

his soul, 



104 WANDERERS. 

And searched the secret places of the earth, 
The lonely forest and the lonely shore ; 
And listened to the voices of the sea, 
What time the pale stars shone, and mid- 
night cold 
Slept on the dark waves whispering at his 

feet ; 
And sought the mystery in a human form, 
Amid the haunts of men, and found it not ; 
And looked in woman's fond, bewildering 



And mirrored there his own, and saw no 

sign : 
But only in his sleep I came to him. 
And gave him fitful glimpses of my face, 
Whereof he after sang, in sweetest words ; 
Then died, and came to me. But evermore, 
Through lonely days and passion-haunted 

nights, 
A life of starlight gloom, do poets seek 
To rend the mystic veil that covers me, 
And evermore they grasp the empty air. 
For only in their dreams I come to them, 
And give them fitful glimpses of my face, 
And lull them, siren-like, with words of 

hope — 
That promise, sometime, to their ravished 

eyes, 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. I05 

Beauty, the secret of the universe, 
The thought that gives the soul eternal 
peace. 

Then the voice ceased, and only, through 

the mist. 
The shaken roses murmured, and the wind. 



LETHE. 



Sweet oblivion, blood of grape, 
Let me take thy hue and shape ! 
Flood this heavy heart of mine ! 
Turn it into ruddy wine ! 
Through my veins, with golden glow, 
Airy spirit, flash and flow ! 
Deify this clod of clay ! 
Waft my willing soul away t 



Dark and sad my fancies are — 
Tired of peace and tired of war. 
Joke of jester, prank of clown, 
Weigh my heavy eyelids down. 



I06 WANDERERS. 

All pMlosophies are drear ; 
Music's jargon in my ear ; 
Endless tides of empty talk 
Bubble round me where I walk ; 
I am deafened by the din 
That the world is wrangling in. 



Prince of sunrise, fiery wine, 
Let me lose my soul in thine ! 
Close my eyes and stop my tears 
To all a mortal sees or hears : — 
Roll of drums, and clash of swords, 
Fretful snarl of angry words. 
Church, and state, and bond, and free, 
Party, creed, and policy. 
Tattle, prattle, laugh, and groan, 
Crozier, sceptre, flag, and throne, 
Garrulous and grand debate 
Which of moles is small or great, 
Whom to pray for, who shall pray, 
And what agile critics say. 



Sun of rubies, radiant wine, 
Melt my being into thine ! 
So my dream of death shall bless 
Memory with forgetfulness. 



PANSIES AND KOSEMARY. I07 

No more weary, •wasting thought 
On a past so folly-fraught ! 
No naore dreams of love-lit eyes, 
Silken hair and tender sighs, 
And wild kisses sweet, that shake 
The frame of being ! — poor mistake ! 
Nor that other, just as poor, — 
Toil for praise of sage or boor ; 
Fire, that burnishes a crown, 
Fire, that burns a kingdom down, 
Eire, that ravages his breast, 
Who takes ambition for its guest ! 
But at last, instead of these. 
Sunset cloud and evening breeze, 
Holy starlight shining dim, 
Organ wail and vesper hymn. 
Cypress wreath and asphodels, 
Gentle toll of distant bells, — 
All that makes the sleeper blest 
In a bed of endless rest. 



When this farce of life is o'er, 
Are we fretted any more ? 
Do they rest, I'd like to know, 
Under grass or under snow, 
Who have gone that silent way 
You and I must go, some day ? 



I08 WANDERERS. 

If they do, it seems to me 

Happy were it thus to be 

Sleeping where the blackb'ries grow, 

And the bramble- roses blow, 

And the sunshine pours its gold 

On mossy rock and woodland old, 

While gentle winds, and clouds of fleece, 

And rippling waters whisper — peace ! 



Vain the fancy : nothing dies : 
Falling water falls to rise ; 
Round and round the atoms fly, — 
Turf, and stone, and sea, and sky, 
Vapour-drop and blood of man, — 
In the inexorable plan. 
All is motion : nothing dies : 
Mystery of mysteries ! 



Royal road of blest escape ! 

Sweet oblivion, blood of grape, 

Let me take thy hue and shape ! 

In thy spirit floating free, 

I shall be a reverie, 

A flitting thought, a fading dream, 

A melting cloud, a faint moonbeam, 



, PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. I09 

A breath, a mist, a ghost of light, 
To rise and vanish in the night, — 
Unseeing all, by all unseen. 
And being as I had not been. 



THE WHITE FLAG. 



Being poppies for a weary naind 
That saddens in a senseless din. 

And let my spirit leave behind 
A world of riot and of sin, — 

In action's torpor deaf and blind. 

Bring poppies — that I may forget ! 

Bring poppies — that I may not learn I 
But bid the audacious sun to set. 

And bid the peaceful starlight burn ; 
O'er buried memory and regret. 

Then will the slumberous grasses grow 
Above the bed wherein I sleep ; 

While winds I love will softly blow, 
And dews I love will softly weep, 

O'er rest and silence hid below. 



no WANDERERS. 

Bring poppies, — for this toil is vain ; 

I cannot guide the rush of life : 
A stronger hand must grasp the rein, 

A stouter arm oppose the strife, 
A braver heart defy the pain. 

Youth was my friend, — but youth had 
wings, 

And he has flovoi unto the day, 
And left me, in a night of things. 

Bewildered, on a lonesome way. 
And careless what the future brings. 

Let there be sleep ! nor any more 
The noise of useless deed or word ; 

While the free spirit hovers o'er 
A sea where not a sound is heard — 

A sea of dreams, without a shore. 

Dark Angel, counselling defeat, 
I see thy mournful, tender eyes ; 

I hear thy voice, so faint, so sweet. 
And very dearly should I prize \ 

Thy perfect peace, thy rest complete. 

But is it rest to vanish hence, 
To mix with earth, or sea, or air ? 



PANSIES AND EOSEMART. I 

Is death indeed a full defence 

Against the tyranny of care ? 
Or is it cruellest pretence ? 

And, if an hour of peace draws nigh, 
Shall we, who know the arts of war. 

Turn from the field and basely fly, 
Nor take what fate reserves us for. 

Because we dream 'twere sweet to die ? 

What shall the untried warriors do. 
If we, the battered veterans, fail ? 

How strive, and suffer, and be true. 
In storms that make our spirits quail, 

Except our valour lead them through ? 

Though for ourselves we droop and tire, 
Let us at least for them be strong. 

'Tis but to bear familiar fire ; 
Life at the longest is not long. 

And peace at last will crown desire. 

So, Death, I will not hear thee speak ! 

But I will live and still endure 
All storms of pain that time can wreak. . 

My flag be white because 'tis pure. 
And not because my soul is weak 1 



112 WANDEEEK8. 



THE SCEPTRE. 

The dark'ning shadows eastward slope 
And evening, with her dewy urn, 

Quenches the beacon orb of hope, 
To let the stars of patience burn. 

The paths grow dim, the low winds sigh, 
The fluttering bird-notes faint and fail, 

And slowly up the sombre sky 
The sad moon wanders, cold and pale. 

Yet on for many a weary mile 
Our pilgrim marches still must wend, 

Through brier and flood, by lane and stile. 
Before we reach our journey's end. 

What word will cheer the jaded nerve ? 

What thought inspire, as on we fare. 
The baffled mind, so prone to swerve 

Beneath the leaden wings of care ? 

Ah, nature, when she made her toy, — 
This wayward child of fire and clay. 

The sport of every fickle joy 
That ripples through his fleeting day, — 

Gave him a fancy swift to breed 
Delusive dreams for every hour — 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. I13 

Sirens that beckon and recede, 
And phantom moods of bliss and power. 

Some from the stars and flowers distil 
The faith that these not vamly shine, 

That whispering wood and rock-crowned 
hiU 
And murmurmg stream are all divine. 

Some for a vanished love bewail — 
Her eyes, the starry orbs of fate. 

And voice, more rich than summer gale, 
That make the heaven in which they wait. 

Some, self-enamoured, seem so dear, 
So sacred in their own kind eyes. 

They cannot doubt what blossoms here 
Must bloom again in paradise. 

Some from the written lore of sage 
Evolve and shape the eternal plan ; 

Some boldly vaunt the inspired page 
And claim immortal life for man. 

So onward down the dark ravine, 

Dim phantoms in a phantom night, 

We wander toward a realm unseen 
Where nothing dwells but love and light. 



114 WANDERERS. 

Vain dreams ! of mortal frailty wrought 
And nameless dread of nameless ill ! 

Man's sceptre is the regnant thought 
And towering calm of human will ! 

One lesson comes to all that live, 
One final truth their lives declare, — 

That earth has nought but toil to give, 
And nought to teach but how to bear : 

Tlie chastened calm of dumb assent, 
Though hope should wither or should 
bloom, 

Blind to all purpose or event, 

And silent, 'neath the eyes of doom. 

This, only this, remains of aU 
The morning pomp of young belief — 

That man, else nature's abject thrall, 
In royal will is nature's chief. 

Thought falters, faith is dazed with fear, 
Earth keeps her secret, death is dumb : 

This simply bears its burden here. 
And dauntless fronts whate'er may come. 

As some tall ship that braves the storm — 
Straight out to sea her prow is bent. 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. II5 

Where, bioken on her stalwart form, 
The furies of the surge are spent : 

Or, torn by rock and whelmed by wave, 
Exultant when her doom is met, 

She rears above her ocean grave 
And sinks with every standard set. 



IE A CHUECHYAED. 



The lonesome wind of autumn grieves ; 

The northern lights are seen ; 
October sheds her changing leaves 

Upon the churchyard green, 
Where, sitting pensive in the sun, 

While fading grasses wave, 
I watch the crickets leap and run, 

Upon a stranger's grave. 



There is no sigh of fluttering leaf, 
No sob of rustling grass ; 

The breezes o'er this place of grief 
In breathless whisper pass ; 



Il6 WANDEEEES. 

Yet, like a murmur in a dream, 
Purls on that insect voice — 

That vacant tone, which does not seem 
To mourn or to rejoice. 



A tone that hath no soothing grace, 

A tone that nothing saith, 
A tone that's like this solemn place 

Of memory, tears, and death — 
It darkens hope, it deepens gloom, 

Black dread and doubt profound, 
Turning the silence of the tomb 

To more mysterious sound. 



There's night upon the face of fame. 

There's night on beauty's eyes. 
Nor pure renown nor glorious shame 

From out their ashes rise : 
In vain the shrines of prayer are trod — 

Nor sound nor silence breathe 
The thought that flowers upon this sod. 

The secret hid beneath. 



Ah, piteous, desolate, and drear 
This nameless stranger's sleep, 



PAN8IES AND ROSEMARY. II7 

O'er which the slowly dying year 

Is all that seems to weep ! 
Ah, save him, in that bitter day, — 

His heart, his reason save, — 
Who hears the crickets chirp, at play. 

Upon his darling's grave ! 



BEYOND THE DARK. 

There's a region afar from earth 
Should be very happy to-day ; 

For a sweet soul, ripe for its birth. 
Has flown from its prison away. 

And I think, as I muse alone. 
While the night is falling around, 

Of a cold, white, glimmering stone, 
And a desolate, grassy mound ; 

Of eyes that will shine never more. 
Of hands that have finished their task ; ■ 

And my heart is heavy and sore. 
And my thought is eager to ask 

H, at last, all things will be well, 
In the morniiig beyond the dark ; 

What secret the pale lips could tell 
Of the sleeper, silent and stark. 



Il8 WANDERERS. 

But there comes a murmur of trees, 

That wave their glad branches, and bring 

Blossoms and leaves, to shake in the breeze, 
From miraculous spring to spring ; 

And they whisper that all is well, 
For the same hand is guiding us all, 

Whether 'tis felt in man's death-knell, 
Or in autumn leaves as they fall. 

And so many have gone before, 
That the voice of another sphere 

Floats oft from o'er a sable shore. 
And pierces the shadow of f eai*. 

O heart that forever is still, 

Thou wilt ache with trouble no more, 
Nor know of the good or the ill 

Of a lunatic world's uproar ! 

Nor care for the great or the small 

Of a strange, bewildering life. 
That oft seems dust and ashes all, 

And is mostly a vapid strife ! 

For the end is the peace of grass, 

And the spirit, ever to be : 
One for us to feel as we pass. 

The other encompassing thee. 



PANSIES AND EOSEMAKY. II9 

Clouds sail and the bright waters flow, 
And our spirits must journey on ; 

But it cannot be ill to go 
The way upon which thou hast gone. 



THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 

Come with a smile, when come thou must, 
Evangel of the world to be, 

And touch and glorify this dust, — 
This shuddering dust, that now is me, — 
And from this prison set me free ! 

Long in those awful eyes I quail. 
That gaze across the grim profound: 

Upon that sea there is no sail. 
Nor any light nor any sound 
From the far shore that girds it round : 

Only — two stiU and steady rays 
That those twin orbs of doom o'ertop ; 

Only — a tranquil, patient gaze 
That drinks my being, drop by drop, 
And bids the pulse of nature stop. 

Come with a smile, auspicious friend, 
To usher in the eternal day ! 



120 WANDEEERS. 

Of these weak terrors make an end, 
And charm the paltry chains away 
That bind me to this timorous clay ! 

And let me know my soul akin 
To sunrise, and the winds of morn, 

And every grandeur that has been 

Since this refulgent world was born, — 
Nor longer droop in my own scorn. 

Come, when the way grows dark and chill 1 
Come, when the baffled mind is weak, 

And in the heart the voice is still. 
That used in happier days to speak, 
Or only whispers, sadly meek. 

Come with thy smile that dims the sun, 
Thy pitying heart and gentle hand. 

To waft me, from my vigil done, 
To peace, that waits on thy command, 
In some yet undiscovered land. 



THE SIGNAL LIGHT. 

The lonely sailor, when the night 

O'er ocean's glimmering waste descends, 

Sets at the peak his signal light. 
And fondly dreams of absent friends. 



PANSIES AND EOSEMAKT. 121 

Starless the sky above him "broods, 
Pathless the waves beneath him swell ; 

Through peril's spectral solitudes 
That beacon flares — and aU is well. 

So, on the wandering sea of years, 
When now the evening closes round, 

I show the signal flame that cheers. 
And scan the wide horizon's bound. 

The night is dark, the winds are loud, 
The black waves follow, fast and far ; 

Yet soon may flash, through mist and cloud, 
The radiance of some answering star. 

Haply across the shuddering deep, 
One moment seen, a snowy sail 

May dart with one impetuous leap, 
And pass with one exultant hail ! 

And I shall dearly, sweetly know, 
Though storm be fierce and ocean drear, 

That somewhere still the roses blow. 
And hearts are true, and friends are near. 

Each separate on the eternal main. 
We seek the same celestial shore : 

Sometimes we part to meet again, 
Sometimes we part to meet no more. 



122 WANDERERS. 

Ah, comrades, prize the gracious day 
When sunshine bathes the tranquil tide, 

And, careless as a child at play, 

Our ships drift onward, side by side ! 

Too oft, with cold and barren will, 

And stony pride of iron sway, 
We bid the voice of love be still. 

And thrust the cup of joy away. 

No comfort haunts the yellow leaf ! 

Wait not till, broken, old, and sere, 
The sad heart pines, in hopeless grief, 

For one sweet voice it used to hear. 

Thought has its throne, and power its glow. 
And wealth will bless, and beauty please ; 

But the best hours that life can know 
Are rose-crowned hours of mirth and ease. 

Let laughter leap from every lip ! 

To music turn the perfumed air ! 
Ye golden pennons, glance and dip ! 

Ye crimson banners, flash and flare ! 

On them no more the tempest glooms 
Whose freed and royal spirits know 

To frolic where the lilac blooms 
And revel where the roses blow ! 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. 123 

But, lights of heaven ahove them kiss, 
As over silver seas they glide — 

One heart, one hope, one fate, one bUss — 
To peace and. silence, side by side. 



SYMBOLS. 

Not only to give light those urns 
Of golden fire adorn the skies ! 

Not for her vision only burns 
The glory of a woman's eyes ! 

But in those flames and that fine glance 

Th' authentic flags of heaven advance. 

In them we know our life divine. 
For which th' unnumbered planets roU ! 

Action and suffering are but sign : 
■Within the shadow dwells the soul ; 

And till we rend this earthly thraU 

We do not truly live at all. 



ASHES. 

[Written in the Shakespeare Church at Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon.] 

No eyes can see man's destiny completed 
Save His, who made and knows th' eter- 
nal plan : 



124 WANDERERS. 

As shapes of cloud in mountains are re- 
peated, 
So thoughts of Fate accomplished are in 
man. 

Here the divinest of all thoughts descended ; 

Here the sweet heavens their sweetest 

boon let fall ; 

Upon this hallowed ground begun and ended 

S'he life that knew, and felt, and uttered 

aU. 

There is not anything of human trial 
That ever love deplored or sorrow knew, 

No glad fulfilment and no sad denial, 
Beyond the pictured truth that Shake- 
speare drew. 

All things are said and done, and though 
forever 
The streams dash onward and the great 
winds blow, 
There comes no new thing in the world, and 
never 
A voice like his, that seems to make it so. 

Take then thy fate, or opulent or sordid, 
Take it and bear it and esteem it blest ; 

For of all crowns that ever were awarded 
The crown of simple patience is the best. 

1889. 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. 1 25 

THE PASSING BELL AT 
STEATFORD. 

[It is a Tradition in Stratford-upon-Avon that 
THE Bell of the Guild Chapel was tolled at 
the Death and Funeral of Shakespeare.] 

Sweet bell of Stratford, tolling slow, 
In summer gloaming's golden glow, 
I hear and feel thy voice divine, 
And all my soul responds to thine. 

As now I hear thee, even so. 
My Shakespeare heard thee long ago. 
When lone by Avon's pensive stream 
He wandered, in his haunted dream : 

Heard thee — and far his fancy sped 
Through spectral caverns of the dead, 
And strove — and strove in vain — to pierce 
The secret of the universe. 

As now thou mournest didst thou mourn 
On that sad day when he was borne 
Through the green aisle of honied limes. 
To rest beneath the chambered chimes. 

He heard thee not, nor cared to hear 1 
Another voice was in his ear, 



126 WANDERERS. 

And, freed from all the bonds of men, 
He knew the awful secret then. 

Sweet bell of Stratford, toll, and be 
A sacred promise unto me 
Of that great hour when I shall know 
The path whereon his footsteps go. 
Written at Stratford, September 14, 1890. 



HEAVEN'S HOUE. 

[Written on hearing Organ Music at Night in 
Shakespeare's Church at Stratford, Septem- 
ber i8, 1890.] 

Can I forget ? — no, never while my soul 
Lives to remember — that imperial night 
When through the spectral church I heard 

them roll, 
Those organ tones of glory, and my sight 
Grew dim with tears, while ever new delight 
Throbbed in my heart, and through the 

shadowy dread 
The pale ghosts wandered, and a deathly 

chill 
Froze all my being — the mysterious thrill 
That tells the awful presence of the dead ! 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. 1 27 

Yet not the dead, but, strayed from heav- 
enly bowers, 

Pure souls that live with other life than 
ours: 

For sure I am that ecstasy of sound 

Lured one sweet spirit from his holy 
ground. 

Who dwells in the perpetual land of flowers. 



THE MEERY MONARCH. 

It comes into my mind, in a genial mood, 
"When the worlds of my being, without 
and within, 
Are pensively happy, in all that is good. 
Unclouded by care and untempted by 
sin, — 
If the gods would but grant me my dearest 
desire, 
As sometimes I think them propitious to 
do, 
That I shouldn't sit here, looking into the 
fire, 
And dreaming, my love, as I'm dreaming 
of you. 



128 WANDERERS. 

Nor should I be thinking, as sometimes I 
am, — 
If the gods had but made me the thing I 
would be, — 
That a station of rank, in a world full of 
sham, 
Were a pleasant and suitable station for 
me. 
Nor would ever a fancy drift into my brain 
For the laurel that bards are so wishful 
to wear, — 
That dubious guerdon for labour and pain, 
That sorry exchange for the natural hair. 

No ! I never should care, if I had my own 
way. 
For the storm or the sunshine, the yes or 
the no ; 
But, merrily careless and perfectly gay, 
I could let the world go as it wanted to 
go. 
I should ask neither riches, nor station, nor 
power ; 
They are chances, they happen, and there 
is an end ; 
But a heart that beats happily every hour 
Is a god's richest gift, is a man's truest 
friend. 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. 1 29 

And that's what I'd have ! For that bless- 
ing I pray ! 
A spirit so gentle and easy and bright, 
It would gladden with sunshine the sunni- 
est day, 
And with magical splendour illumine the 
night. 
I could envy no potentate under the sun, 

However sublime might that potentate be ! 
For I'd live, the illustrious monarch of fun. 
And the rest of the world should be happy 
with me. 

I'd be gold in the sunshine and silver in 
showers ; 
I'd be rainbows, and clouds all of purple 
and pearl ; 
And the fairies of fun should laugh out of 
the flowers. 
And the jolly old earth should be all in a 
whirl ! 
The brooks should trill music, the leaves 
dance in glee, 
And old ocean should bellow with surly 
delight : 
O, but wouldn't it be a rare pageant to see. 
If the gods did but grant me my kingdom 
to-night ! 

I 



130 WANDERERS. 

And I think it will come, — that succession 
of mine, 
That crown with the opals of jollity set ; 
And the joy in my soul will be almost 
divine 
When I finally teach myself how to for- 
get; 
Forget every trouble in which I've a part, 
All the dreams that allure and the hopes 
that betray ; 
Contented to wait, with a right merry heart. 
For silence and night and the end of the 
play. 



BLUE AND BLACK. 



Here's a health to the lass with the merry 

black eyes ! 
Here's a health to the lad with the blue 

ones ! 
Here's a bumper to love, as it sparkles and 

flies, 
And here's joy to the hearts that are true 

ones ! 
Yes, joy to the hearts that are tender and 

true, — 



PANSIES AND ROSEMARY. I3I 

With a passion that nothing can smother ! 
To the eyes of the one, that are pensive and 
bhie, 
And the merry black eyes of the other 1 



Mind this now, my lad, with the sweet eyes 
of blue, 
That, whatever the graces invite you, 
There is nothing for you in this world that 
will do 
But a pair of black eyes to deUght you : 
And mind, my gay lass, with the dear eyes 
of black, 
In a pair of blue eyes to discover 
That pure light of affection you never should 
lack, — 
And you'll always be true to your lover 1 



Long, long shall your eyes sparkle back 
with a kiss 
To the eyes that live but to behold you : 
Long, long shall the magic of mutual bliss 

In a heaven of rapture enfold you ! 
And forever to you shaU that singer be wise, 
Whose sweet thought is the truest of true 
ones, — 



132 WANDEKERS. 

That the answering lustre of merry black 
eyes 
Is the life of a pair of true blue ones. 



AN EMPTY HEART. 

[With a Heart-shaped Jewel-box.] 
I. 
Well, since our lot must be to part 

(These lots — how they do push and pull 
one !) 
I send you here an empty heart, 

But send it from a very full one. 
My little hour of joy is done. 

But every vain regret I smother, 
With murm'ring, ' When you see the one, 
Think kindly sometimes of the other.' 



This heart must always do your will. 

This heart your maid can fetch and cany, 
This heart will faithful be, and still 

Will not importune you to marry. 
That other, craving hosts of things, 

Would throb and flutter, every minute ; 
But this, except it hold your rings. 

Will mutely wait with nothing in it. 



PANSIES AKD ROSEMARY. I33 



Oh, happy heart ! that finds its bliss 

In pure affection consecrated ! 
But happier far the heart, like this. 

That heeds not whether lone or mated ; 
That stands unmoved in beauty's eyes. 

That knows not if you leave or take it, 
That is not hurt though you despise, 

And quite unconscious when you break it. 



That other heart would burn and freeze, 

And plague, and hamper, and perplex you, 
But this will always stand at ease. 

And never pet and never vex you. 
Go, empty heart ! and if she lift 

Your little lid this prayer deliver : 
' Ah, look with kindness on the gift. 

And think with kindness on the giver.' 



THE NIGHT WIND. 

The night- wind that sobs in the trees — 
Ah, would that my spirit could tell 
What an infinite meaning it breathes, 
What a sorrow and longing it wakes ! 
Stronacblacber, September 1, 1890. 



134 WANDERERS. 



NEVER. 

The sere leaves rustle in the moaning blast, 
The dreary rain is pattering on the roof, 
Sad bells, far off, toll through the twilight 
hours — 
And I shall never see thy face again ! 

The shadows deepen, but there comes no 

dawn ; 
And through the dark I hear the rustling 

robe 
Of the grim angel that has veiled my eyes — 
Never to see thy glorious face again ! 



V. 

AT VESPER TIME. 



'•— ^'■^"■^'■'^'^ 



y. 

AT VESPER TIME. 



AT ANCHOR. 

I. 
While pale with rage the wild surf springs 

Athwart the harbour bar, 
The safe ships fold their snowy wings, 

Beneath the evening star : 
In this calm haven rocked to sleep, 

All night they swing and sway, 
Till mantles o'er the morning deep 

The golden blush of day. 

IT. 

Here, safe from every storm of fate, 

From worldly strife and scorn. 
Thus let me fold my hands and wait 

The coming of the morn ; 
While aU night long, o'er moon-lit turf, 

The wind brings in from far 
The moaning of the baffled siu'f 

Athwart the harbour bar. 

137 



138 WANDERERS. 

IN PEACE. 
I. 
Gbeen trees and grassy fields and sunset 
light, 
With holy silence, save for rippling leaves 
And birds that twitter of the coming night, 
Calling their mates, beneath my cottage 
eaves — 
These Fate hath granted for a little space 

To be companions of my pilgrimage, 
Filling my grateful heart with nature's grace. 

II. 
Not unremembered here life's garish stage, 
Nor the wild city's uproar, nor the race 
For gain and power, in which all lives en- 
gage; 
But here remembered dimly, in a dream. 
As something fretful that hath ceased to 
fret — 
Now, when time lapses like a gentle 
stream. 
Hid in the woodland's heart, and I forget 
To note its music and its silver gleam. 

III. 

But never, never let me cease to know, 
O whispering woods and daisy-sprinkled 
grass, 



siasaiaiamtm 



AT VESPER TIME. 1 39 

The beauty and tlie peace that you bestow, 

When the wild fevers of ambition pass, 
ind the worn spirit, in its gloom and grief, 
Jinks on your bosom and there finds relief ! 



THE GOLDEN SILENCE. 

-Vhat though I sing no other song ? 

What though I speak no other word ? 
Is silence shame ? Is patience wrong ? — 

At least one song of mine was heard : 

One echo from the mountain air. 
One ocean murmur, glad and free — 

One sign that nothing grand or fair, 
In all this world was lost to me. 

I will not wake the sleeping lyre ; 

I will not strain the chords of thought ; 
The sweetest fruit of all desire 

Comes its own way, and comes unsought. 

Though all the bards of earth were dead, 
And all their music passed away. 

What nature wishes should be said 
She'll find the rightful voice to say I 



140 WANDERERS. 

Her heart is in the shimmering leaf, 
The drifting cloud, the lonely sky, 

And all we know of bliss or grief 
She speaks, in forms that cannot die. 

The mountain peaks that shine afar, 
The silent stars, the pathless sea, 

Are living signs of all we are, 
And types of all we hope to be. 



EGEEIA. 

The star I worship shines alone. 
In native grandeur set apart ; 

Its light, its beauty, all my own. 
And imaged only in my heart. 

The flower I love lifts not its face 
Por other eyes than mine to see ; 

And, having lost that sacred grace, 
'Twould have no other charm for me. 

The hopes I bear, the joys I feel, 
Are silent, secret, and serene ; 

Pure is the shrine at which I kneel, 
And purity herself my queen. 



ggiit,igt^y^ggll^^B||SHMaaSMB^cnaiHliHIMii«i 



AT VESPER TIME. I4I 

I would not have an impious gaze 
Profane the altar where are laid 

My hopes of nobler, grander days, 
By heaven inspired, by earth betrayed. 

I would not have the noontide sky 
Pour down its bold, obtrusive light 

Where all the springs of feeling lie. 
Deep in the soul's celestial night. 

Far from the weary strife and noise, 
The tumult of the great to-day, 

I guard my own congenial joys, 
And keep my own sequestered way. 

For all that world is cursed with care ; 

Has nothing holy, nothing dear, 
No light, no music anywhere, — 

It will not see, it will not hear. 

But thou, sweet spirit, viewless power, 
Whom I have loved and trusted long, — 

In pleasure's day, in sorrow's hour, — 
Muse of my life and of my song ; 

Breathe softly, thou, with peaceful voice. 
In my soul's temple, vast and dim ! 

In thy own perfect joy rejoice. 
With morning and with evening hymn ! 






143 WANDERERS. 

And though my hopes should round me fall 
Like rain-drops in a boundless sea, 

I -will not think I lose them all 
While yet I keep my trust in thee ! 



MY PALACES. 

They rose in beauty on the plains 
Through which my childhood danced ia 
glee, 

When roses wreathed my idle chains. 
And holy angels talked with me. 

They rose sublime on mountain heights 
Whereto my ardent youth aspired, — 

Through silver days and golden nights, 
Ere yet my heart grew dull and tired. 

Their stately towers were all aflame 
With rosy hues of morning light ; 

For hope, and love, and power, and fame 
Burned on their peaks and made them 
bright. 

Now brown and level fields expand 

Around me, as I hold my way 
Through barren hills on either hand. 

And under skies of sober gray. 



AT VESPER TIME. I43 

~No radiant towers in distance rise, 

On soaring mountains strong and glad ; 

No gorgeous banners flaunt the skies, — 
But all tlie scene is calm and sad. 

Yet here and there, along the plain, 
A flower lights up the fading grass ; 

And whispering wind and rustling rain 
Make gentle music as I pass. 

And now and then a happy face. 

And now and then a cheerful thought 

Give to the scene a pensive grace. 
The sweeter that it comes unsought. 

And, looking past all earthly ill, 
I dimly see my place of rest, — 

A lowly palace, dark and still. 
And sacred to the weary guest. 



OLD DAYS AND LOVES. 

EosY days of youth and fancy, 
Happy hours of long ago ! 

Ah, the flickering sunbeam visions — 
How they waver to and fro ! 



144 WANDERERS. 

Galaxies of blue-eyed Marys, 

Witli a Julia and a Jane, 
And a troop of little Lauras, 

Blush, and laugh, and romp again. 

Moonlight meetings, dreamy rambles, 
In the balm of summer night, 

When our hearts were fuU of rapture 
And our senses of delight ; — 

Those remember — and remember 
How the fond stars shone above, 

Keeping, in their mellow splendour, 
"Watch and ward upon our love. 

Youth is like a diamond dawning — 
Bold it breaks to gorgeous day ; 

Heavenly fires of power and beauty 
Blaze and bum along its way. 

Far within its mystic future 
Oft are solemn voices heard ! 

Shaped to many a stately anthem 
Floats the music of a word. 

But that music, in the present. 
Droops with passion's dull decay, 

Till its echo in the spirit 
Faints, and fails, and dies away. 



AT VESPER TIME. I45 

Green be then the tender memory 

Of the past, forever sped, 
So that youth may be immortal, 

Though its days and dreams are dead ! 



THE SEQUEL. 

The moonbeams on the water sleep, 

In breathing light ; 
And tender thoughts and memories keep 

My soul to-night. 

Shades of sweet hours, forever gone, 

Eeturn unsought, 
And waves of mournful joy dance on 

The stream of thought. 

A dreamy fragrance seems to rise 

Erom other years — 
A solemn bliss, that dims the eyes 

With happy tears. 

Life wears the glow of rosy grace 

That first it wore. 
And smiles are lit on many a face 

That smiles no more. 

K 



146 WANDEBERS, 

The gentle friends I used to greet, — 

They all are here : 
All forms are fair, all voices sweet, 

All memories dear. 

All happy thoughts, all glorious dreams, 

That once were mine, 
Else, in the tender light that beams 

From auld lang syne. 

But something in the heart is wrong, — . 

The joyous sway, 
The spirit and the voice of song 

Have died away. 

These winds, that on their cloudy cars 

Sweep through the sky. 
These wandering, watching, deathless stars, 

My prayer deny. 

These low, sweet murmurs from the land 

^ And from the sea. 
These waves, that kiss the silver sand. 
Speak not to me. 

And not to me one voice shall speak 

For evermore. 
Though the same waves in beauty break 

On the same shore. 



ciaHHiaaMIIBiiiiiiiiiiBtaiSBiBiiMBtaikR.... . w^ i""iTHi-ii*r " 1 1 



AT VESPER TIME. I47 

Shine stars, sob waves, and murmur blast, 

And night-dews, weep ! 
To wait is left me, and at last 

The dreamless sleep. 



THE NIGHT WATCH. 



Beneath the midnight moon of May, 

Through dusk on either hand, 
One sheet of silver, spreads the bay, 

One crescent jet the land ; 
The black ships mirrored in the stream 

Their ghostly tresses shake — 
When will the dead world cease to dream ? 

When will the momtng break ? 



Beneath a night no longer May, 

Where only cold stars shine, 
One glimmering ocean, spreads away 

This haunted life of mine ; 
And, shattered on the frozen shore, 

My harp can never wake — 
When will this night of death be o'er ? 

When will the morning break ? 



148 WANDERERS. 



THE VEILED MUSE. 

Spirit of Beauty, haunt me not ! 

Thou bring' st insufferable pain : 
Thou, who art gone, be thou forgot. 

Nor rise to vex my rest again, 
Either with memories sadly sweet, 
Or hopes foredoomed to dull defeat ! 

Ah, come no more in rustling leaves, 
Or peaceful grass, or breath of flowers ! 

Enough this baffled spirit grieves, 
Kemembering thee in rosy hours : 

Spare it the throbs of hope and fear, — 

The cruel sense that thou art near ! 

The passion dies within my soul ; 

The music dies within my brain ; 
Save when there comes a funeral toU — 

A low, lamenting, sad refrain, 
An echo from that shrine of song 
Long darkened and deserted long. 

In what was fair I once had part, 
But all fair things are now my shame : 

Their nameless beauty hurts my heart, 
Because I cannot speak its name : 



..^^^^ai^tl^fci 



AT VESPER TIME. 149 

Spoken, 'twould make my soul rejoice ; 
But now I cannot give it voice. 

Once in these veins the blood was warm ; 

With ardent hope this heart beat high ; 
And the great gales that proudly storm 

The loftiest ramparts of the sky 
Were not more daring, fierce, and strong 
Than this now silent soul of song. 

But wasted now that youth of gold, 
Not heaven itself again could give ; 

And he to die may well be bold 
Who is not bold enough to live — 

In haunted silence of disgrace, 

Where hushed thy voice and veiled thy 
face. 

Ah, come no more to do me wrong, 
In twilight hours of tender dream. 

When this worn spirit seems less strong 
Than evening mist that shrouds the 
stream. 

Though love be dead, at least retain 

Some pity for thy lover's pain : 

Eemembering still, though all be past, 
That thou and I clasped hands in youth : 



150 WANDEREKS. 

I saw thee close, I held thee fast, 

Plucked kisses from thy rosy mouth — 
Learning the bliss which now I weep, 
The love I won but could not keep. 



UNWRITTEN POEMS. 

Fairy spirits of the breeze — 
Frailer nothing is than these. 
Fancies bom we know not where — 
In the heart or in the air : 
Wandering echoes blown unsought 
From far crystal peaks of thought : 
Shadows, fading at the dawn. 
Ghosts of feeling dead and gone : 
Alas I Are all fair things that live 
Still lovely and still fugitive ? 



A SOUVENIE. 

I. 
Ah, Lily, when my head lies low, 

In yonder quiet woodland dell, — 
Where the wild-flowers will sweetly blow, 

Above the eyes that loved them well, — 



AT VESPER TIME. I5I 

How soon thy sorrow would depart, 
K word of mine could soothe thy heart ! 



Somewhere, some day, we meet again I 
Think this — and be this thought relief 1 

In life I have not brought thee pain ; 
In death I must not bring thee grief. 

Strew with the flowers of hope my pall, 

And gently mourn, or not at all ! 



INCENSE. 

True heart I upon the current of whose 

love. 
My days, like roses in a summer brook, 
Float by, in fragrance and in melody, 
Take these — unworthy symbols of my soul, 
Made precious by the heavenly faith of 

thine ! 
Take them : and, though a face of pain looks 

through 
The marble veil of words, thy heart will 

know 
That what was shadow once is simshine 

now, 



152 WANDERERS. 

And life all peace, and beauty, and content, 
Redeemed and hallowed by thy sacred 

grace. 
Thrice happy he, who — favoured child of 

fate ! — 
Finds his Egeria in a mortal guise. 
And, hearing all the discords of the world 
Blend into music, round his haunted way. 
Knows hope fulfilled and bliss already won ! 



FULL-CIECLE. 

The future and the past are blended, 
And all will one day re-appear ; 

For nothing in this world is ended. 
Whatever seems to perish here. 



VI. 

TKIBUTE AND COIIEMOEATION. 



VI. 

TRIBUTE AND COMMEIOEATION. 



GEOKGE AENOLD. 

[Greenwood, November 13, 1865.] 

Beneath the still November sky, 

With nature's peace and beauty blest, 

We put our selfish sorrow by, 
And laid our comrade down to rest. 

Rest — in the morning of his days ! 

Rest — when his heart had just begun 
To feel the warmth of rip'ning praise, 

The radiance of the rising sun ! 

Rest — to a strong and stately mind. 
That rose all common flights above ! 

Rest — to a heart as true and kind 
As ever glowed with human love ! 

And round him, dimly, through our grief, 
In every natural sound we heard — 
15s 



156 "WANDEKEKS. 

In whispering grass, and rustling leaf, 
And sighing wind — the same sweet word : 

Eest ! And we did not break the spell 

By holy nature woven round 
The fading form we left to dwell 

Forever in her hallowed ground. 

No hymns were sung, no prayers were said 
Save what our loving hearts could say, 

When, mutely gazing on the dead. 
We blessed him ere we turned away : 

Back to the round of daily care 
That seems so vacant to us now, 

Remembering what repose was there, 
What peace, upon his marble brow. 

And so we left him, — nevermore 

To see, in sunshine or in rain. 
The semblance of the form he wore 

Whose loss has steeped our souls in pain. 

But, long as skies of autumn smile. 
And long as clouds of autumn weep. 

Or autumn leaves their splendours pile 
In sorrow o'er their poet's sleep; 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 57 

And long as violets grace the spring, 
Or June-born roses blush and blow, 

Or pale stars shine, or south winds sing, 
Or tides of summer ebb and flow ; 

So long shall live their poet's name, 
When rest these broken hearts of ours, — 

Embalmed in love, surpassing fame. 
With stars and leaves and clouds and 
flowers ! 



ADA. 

[Died March 4, 1874.] 

Spuing will return and woods grow green 

From shore to shore ; 
But she, unseeing and unseen, 

Keturns no more. 

Low in the ground her sleep is sweet, 

And dark, and long : 
No more she treads, with wandering feet, 

Our maze of wrong. 

No more the world's rebuke can fret 
Her soul's repose ; 



158 WANDERERS. 

Nor kindness woo her to forget 
Her bitter woes. 

She will not stir, nor speak, nor heed. 
Though eyes that weep, 

And sorrow-stricken hearts that bleed, 
Beseech her sleep. 

Yet, be it mine, above her pall, 

To shed one tear, 
And speak one word of love, that all 

The world may hear. 

A brother's place in that fond breast 

'Twas mine to hold : 
Ah, they loved most who knew her best ■ 

That heart of gold. 

She was more kind than slumbers are 

To eyes that grieve ; 
And, like the constant northern star, 

Could ne'er deceive. 

There was no sorrow on the earth 
But touched her heart ; 

And in all gentle, childlike mirth 
She bore her part. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 59 

There was no goodness but it won 

Her reverent praise ; 
And full of kind deeds, simply done, 

Were all her days. 

She strove, through trouhle'slasting blight, 

For pathways smooth ; 
And many hands she found to smite, 

And few to soothe. 

A child, whom cruel want has made 

A thing forlorn, 
Stretching its little hands, for aid, 

To eyes that scorn ; 

And wandering through the winter night, 

For beggar's dole, 
Is not more piteous in its plight 

Than was her soul. 

Yet did she hope, and toil, and wait, 

Heaven's will to know. 
Till came the awful stroke of fate 

That laid her low. 

Sleep softly, softly, true and tried, 

"Where troubles cease ; 
And take at last, what life denied, 

Death's gift of peace. 



l6o WANDERERS. 

JOHN BEOUGHAM. 

[June 4, 1874.] 

If buds by hopes of spring are blessed 

That sleep beneath the snow, 
And hearts by coming joys caressed, 

Which yet they dimly know, — 
On fields where England's daisies gleam, 

And Ireland's shamrocks bloom, 
To-day shall summer, in her dream. 

Be glad with thoughts of Brougham. 

To-day, o'er miles and miles of sea, 

Beneath the jocund sun, 
With merrier force and madder glee 

The bannered winds shall run : 
To-day great waves shall ramp and reel, 

And clash their shields of foam, 
With bliss to feel the coming keel 

That bears the wanderer home ! 

For he that (loved and honoured here — 

God bless his silver head !) 
O'er many a heart, for many a year, 

The dew of joy has shed, 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. l6l 

Longs for the land that gave him birth, 

Turns back to boy again, 
And, bright with all the flags of mirth. 

Sails homeward o'er the main. 

Ah, well may winds and waves be gay, 

And flowers and streams rejoice, 
And that sweet region far away 

Become one greeting voice ; 
For he draws backward to that place, 

Who ne'er, by deed or art. 
Made darkness in one human face, 

Or sorrow in one heart ! 

He comes, whom all the rosy sprites 

That round Thalia throng 
Have tended close through golden nights 

Of laughter, wit, and song ; 
Whom love's bright angels still have 
known — 

He ne'er forgot to hear 
The helpless widow's suppliant moan. 

Or dry the orphan's tear. 

Where boughs of oak and willow toss. 
His life's white pathway flows — 

With many an odour blown across, 
Of lily and of rose. 



1 62 WANDEREES. 

His gentle life that blessings crown 

Is fame no chance can dim ; 
We honour manhood's best renown 

When now we honour him. 

Grief may stand silent in the eye, 

And silent on the lip, 
When, poised between the sea and sky. 

Dips down the fading ship ; 
But there's one charm his heart to keep 

And hold his constant mind — 
He'll find no love beyond the deep 

Like that he leaves behind ! 

So, to thy breast, old ocean, take 

This brother of our soul ! 
Ye winds, be gentle for his sake ! 

Ye billows, smoothly roll ! 
And thou, sad Ireland, green and fair, 

Across the waters wild 
Stretch forth strong arms of loving care. 

And guard thy cherished child ! 

And whether back to us he drift. 

Or pass beyond our view. 
Where life's celestial mountains lift 

Their peaks above the blue — 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 63 

His will be done whose gracious will, 

Through all our mortal fret, 
The sacred blessing leaves us still, — 

To love, and not forget. 



JOHN LAWEENCE TOOLE. 

[August 6, 1874.] 
1. 
A PERFUME that all sense delights 
Enchants us most on summer nights, 
And music, nature's kindest boon. 
Is sweetest 'neath the summer moon : 
For summer night and moonlight give 
Quiet and grace, in which we live ; 
In which alone the prisoned soul 
Finds, if not words, at least control, 
And, for a moment, lifts iis far 
To realms where saints and angels are. 
So friendship's soft and tender voice 
Sounds clearest when our hearts rejoice : 
For, when contentment warms the heart, 
Dull thoughts and sordid cares depart — 
By love exhaled — and in their place 
Burns the rich glow of peace and grace. 
And then we see each other clear ; 
The voice within the voice we hear ; 



164 WANDERERS. 

And deep thoughts surge to eye and cheek, 
Nor words, nor smiles, nor tears can speak I 
The old love-ditties that were sung, 
The whispered vows, when we were young, 
The silken touch of fragrant tress, 
The maiden's awful loveliness, 
Starlight and sea-breeze, beach and spray, 
The sunshine of some sacred day, 
A mother's kiss on lip and brow. 
The tones of loved ones, silent now, 
The light that nevermore will gleam, 
The broken hope, the vanished dream — 
All these come thronging through the brain, 
Till, half with joy and half with pain, 
Our souls break loose from common things, 
And soar aloft on angel wings ; 
Out of the tumult and the glare. 
The fretful strife, the feverish care. 
To that great life of peace and grace 
That waits the suffering human race ; 
That larger life than sight or sound, 
Wherewith great Nature folds us round. — 
This is the magic, this the power, 
That thrills and crowns the festal hour I 



'Tis summer, and the moon is bright. 
And perfect gladness rules the night. 
And through our rapture, gracious, free. 



TKIBUTE AND COMMEMOKATION. 1 65 

A silver voice, across the sea, 
In tender accents whispers sweet — 
' Be kind to him whom now you greet ! 
At England's fireside altar-stone 
His fame is prized, his virtue known : 
To England's heart his name is dear ; 
To him she gives her smile, her tear ; 
She loves him for his rosy mirth ; 
She loves him for his manly worth ; 
She knows him bright as morning dew ; 
She knows him faithful, tender, true ; 
Her hope comes with him o'er the deep, — 
With him to smile, with him to weep. 
Ah, give him friendship that endures, 
And take him from her heart to yours.' — 

III. 
That voice is heard. By deed and cheer, 
We give him loyal welcome here ! 
In art's fair garden, where we stand, 
We take him by the strong right hand ; 
In friendship's cup the pledge we drain, 
And bind him fast in friendship's chain. 
Honour the man, whate'er his stage. 
Who wields the arts to cheer the age I 



Ah, comrades, if I could but say 
(To point and close this humble lay) 



1 66 WANDERERS. 

What other voices float to me, 
Across another, darker sea, 
What words of cheer are wafted through 
My fancy's realm, to him and you, — 
A music then indeed might flow, 
Should make your hearts and pulses glow. 
For then would ring out, rich and deep, 
The royal tones of some who sleep, — 
The brilliant and the wise, too soon 
Snatched from our side, in manhood's noon, 
Ere genius half her vigil kept ; 
For whom our hearts and morning wept : 
And these a welcome, without stint, — 
My feeble words can only hint, — 
Should give this friend and comrade, come 
So far from kindred and from home. 
But, this denied, I prattle on, — 
The echo, when the music's gone ; 
With yet the hope that words well-meant 
May find a grace for good intent. 
With you, companions, tried and dear, 
With him, the guest that's honoured here. 
Nor will I think he views with scorn 
These rhymes of welcome, lowly born ; 
These wild-wood roses, faint but sweet, — 
In kindness scattered at his feet. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 67 

GEOEGE FAWCETT EOWE. 

[August 29, 1875.] 

I. 
At morning, when the marcli hegan, 

And hope's strong eagle waved her wing, 
Through banks of flowers the pathway ran. 

Beneath the silver skies of spring. 

"We heard the mountain torrents call. 
Far up among the peaks of snow ; 

Our happy laughter rang through all 
The peaceful valleys spread below. 

Our hearts were glad, our faces gay. 
We trod the slopes with careless glee. 

And through the hill-gaps, far away, 
Hailed the blue splendour of the sea. 

We knew no peril, felt no fear. 

Nor thought how swift the moments pass : 
The sighing pines we did not hear, 

Nor our own footsteps on the grass. 

But day wears on and night is near, 
Gray banners mingle with the gold, 

Our ranks are thin, our faces drear. 
The sky is dark, the wind is cold ; 



1 68 WANDERERS. 

We hear the roaring of the waves 
Of that great sea to which we tend ; 

Our thoughts are in the wayside graves, 
And on the solemn journey's end. 

No more in vain the pine-trees sigh, 
Full well their mournful note is known ; 

No footsteps pass unheeded by, 
No more unheeded fall our own. 

No more we hear the joyous cries 
Eeechoed back from vale and hill ; 

The light has faded from our eyes. 
The music of our youth is still. 



Not all unlearned in sorrow's lore, 
My spirit, pensive, dwells apart. 

And hears and heeds for evermore 
The dead leaves rustling in the heart. 

Yet kindly fortune gives me grace. 
Through good and ill, through toil and 
pain, 

To hold in ever fond embrace 
The cherished comrades that remain ! 

He, dearly prized, whose gracious fame 
Is goodness, bright beyond eclipse ; 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 69 

He, tried and true, whose honoured name 
Is in your hearts as on your lips ; — 

He shall not, in this royal hour, 
Lack words of mine, my faith to prove ; 

And, though they be not words of power. 
They shall be words of constant love. 

His the light-hearted, cheery mirth — 
The snow-white bloom of blameless 
days — 

Wisdom and grace and manly worth, 
An honest mind and simple ways. 

His the pure thought, the spirit sweet, 
The wild-wood charm of graceful art, 

The sadness and the joy that meet 
In nature's own benignant heart. 

Him fortune never taught to fawn ; 

Want never sued to him in vain : 
The word is spoken and is gone. 

The gentle thought and act remain. 

On wings of deeds the soul must mount ! 

When we are summoned from afar, 
Ourselves, and not our words, will count — 

Not what we said, but what we are 1 



170 WANDEREES. 

Ah, be it mine, or soon or late, 

In that great day, in that bright land, 

With him as now to take my fate, 
Heart answering heart, hand clasped in 
hand ! 



EDGAR POE. 

[For the Dedication of a Monument to Poe, 
AT Baltimore, November 19, 1875.] 

Cold is the paean honour sings, 
And chill is glory's icy breath. 

And pale the garland memory brings 
To grace the iron doors of death. 

Fame's echoing thunder, long and loud, 
The pomp of pride that decks the pall, 

The plaudit of the vacant crowd — 
One word of love is worth them all ! 

With dew of grief our eyes are dim : 
Ah, let the tear of sorrow start ; 

And honour, in ourselves and him, 
The great and tender human heart ! 

Through many a night of want and woe 
His frenzied spirit wandered wild, 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. I71 

Till kind disaster laid him low, 
And love reclaimed its wayward child. 

Throiigh many a year his fame has grown, — 
Like midnight, vast ; like starlight, sweet ; 

Till now his genius fills a throne. 
And homage makes his realm complete. 

One meed of justice, long delayed. 
One garland yet his virtues crave ! 

Ah, take, thou great and injured shade, 
The love that sanctifies the grave. 

And may thy spirit, hovering nigh, 
Pierce the dense cloud of darkness 
through. 

And know, with fame that cannot die. 
Thou hast the world's compassion too ! 



THE VOICE OF THE SILENCE.^ 

[Read before the Society of the Army of the 
Potomac, at the Academy of Music, Phila- 
delphia, June 6, 1876.] 

Bkight on the sparkling sod to-day 
The youthful summer gleams ; 



172 WANDEKERS. 

The roses in the south wind play, 
The slumberous woodland dreams : 

In golden light, 'neath clouds of fleece, 
'Mid bird-songs wild and free, 

The blue Potomac flows, in peace, 
Down to the peaceful sea. 

No echo from the stormy past 

Alarms the placid vale — 
Nor cannon roar, nor trumpet blast. 

Nor shattered soldier's wail. 
There's nothing left to mark the strife, 

The triumph, or the pain, 
Where nature to her general life 

Takes back our lives again. 

Yet, in your vision, evermore, 

Beneath affrighted skies, 
"With crash of sound, with reek of gore, 

The martial pageants rise : 
Audacious banners rend the air, 

Dark steeds of battle neigh, 
And frantic through the sulphurous glare 

Raves on the crimson fray ! 

Not time nor chance nor change can drown 
Your memories proud and high, 

Nor pluck your star of conquest down 
Prom glory's deathless sky ! 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 73 

For evermore your fame shall bide — 

Your valour tried and true ; 
And that v?hich makes your country's pride 

May well be pride to you ! 

Forever in the soldier's thought 

The soldier's life returns — 
Or where the trampled fields are fought, 

Or where the camp-fire burns. 
For him the pomp of morning brings 

A thrill none else can know : 
For him night waves her sable wings 

O'er many a nameless woe. 

How often, face to face with death, 

In stern suspense he stood, 
While bird and insect held their breath 

Within the ambushed wood ! 
Again he sees the silent hills, 

With danger's menace grim ; 
And darkly all the shuddering rills 

Eun red with blood, for him. 

For him the cruel sun of noon 

Glares on a bristling plain ; 
For him the cold disdainful moon 

Lights meadows rough with slain : 
There's death in every sight he sees, 

In every sound he hears ; 



"•amtmi 



174 WANDEREKS. 

And sunset hush and evening breeze 
Are sad with prisoned tears. 

Again, worn out in fevered march, 

He sinks beside the track ; 
Again, beneath night's lonely arch. 

His dreams of home come back ; 
In morning wind the roses shake 

Around his cottage-door. 
And little feet of children make 

Their music on the floor. 

The tones that nevermore on earth 

Can bid his pulses leap 
Eing out again, in careless mirth. 

Across the vales of sleep ; 
And where, in horrent splendour, roll 

The waves of vict'ry's tide. 
The chosen comrades of his soul 

Are glorious at his side ! 

Forget ! the arm may lose its might, 

The tired heart beat low. 
The sun from heaven blot out his light, 

The west wind cease to blow ; 
But, while one spark of life is warm 

Within this mould of clay, 
His soul will revel in the storm 

Of that tremendous day 1 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATIOK. 1 75 

On mountain slope, in lonely glen, 

By fate's divine command, 
The blood of those devoted men 

Has sanctified the land ! 
The funeral moss — but not in grief — 

Waves o'er their hallovfed rest ; 
And not in grief the laurel leaf 

Drops on the hero's breast ! 

Tears for the slave, when nature's gift 

Of all that man can be 
Wastes, like the shattered spars that drift 

Upon the unknown sea ! 
Tears when the craven sinks at last, — 

No deed of valour done ; 
But no tears for the soul that past 

When honour's fight was won ! 

He takes the hand of heavenly fate, 

Who lives and dies for truth ! 
For him the holy angels wait, 

In realms of endless youth ! 
The grass upon his grave is green 

With everlasting bloom ; 
And love and blessing make the sheen 

Of glory round his tomb ! 

Mourn not for them beloved and gone I 
The cause they died to save 



176 WANDERERS. 

Rears its eternal corner-stone 

Upon the martyr's grave 
"Where, safe from every ill, they pass 

To slumber sweet and low, 
'Neath requiems of the murmuring grass 

And dirges of the snow. 

That sunset wafts its holiest kiss 

Through evening's gathering shades, 
That beauty breaks the heart with bliss, 

The hour before it fades. 
That music seems to merge with heaven 

Just when its echo dies, 
Is nature's sacred promise given 

Of life beyond the skies ! 

Mourn not ! in life and death they teach 

This thought — this truth — sublime : 
There's no man free, except he reach 

Beyond the verge of time ! 
So, beckoning up the starry slope, 

They bid our souls to live. 
And, flooding all the world with hope, 

Have taught us to forgive. 

No soldier spurns a fallen foe ! 

No hate of human-kind 
Can darken down the generous glow 

That fires the patriot mind ! 



TEIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 77 

But love shall make the vanquished strong 

And justice lift the ban, 
Where right no more can bend to wrong 

Nor man be slave to man. 

So from their silent graves they speak ; 

So speaks that silent scene — 
Where now the violet blossoms meek, 

And all the fields are green. 
There wood and stream and flower and 
bird 

A pure content declare ; 
And where the voice of war was heard 

Is heard the voice of prayer : 

Once more in brother-like accord 

Our alien'd hearts unite ; 
And clasp, across the broken sword, 

The hands that used to smite ! 
And since beside Potomac's wave 

There's nothing left but peace, 
Be filled at last the open grave, 

And let the sorrow cease 1 

Sweet from the pitying northern pines 

Their loving whisper flows ; 
And sweetly, where the orange shines, 

The palm-tree woos the rose : 

M 



178 WANDERERS. 

Ah, let that tender music run 

O'er all the years to be ; 
And Thy great blessing make us one ■ 

And make us one with Thee I 



JOHN GILBERT. 

[November 30, 1878.] 

I. 

Where, pure and pale, the starlight streams 

Far down the Alpine slope, 
StiU through eternal winter gleams 

The stainless flower of hope ! 
Undimmed by cloud, undrenched by tears, 

So may his laurel last, — 
While shines o'er all his future years 

The rainbow of the past ! 

II. 
Far, far from him the mournful hour 

That brings the final call. 
And o'er his scenes of grace and power 

Fate lets the curtain fall ! 
And oh, when sounds that knell of worth, 

To his pure soul be given 
A painless exit from the earth. 

And entrance into heaven ! 



TEIBTJTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 79 



A PLEDGE TO THE DEAD. 

[Read before the Society of the Army of thb 
Potomac, at Albany, N.Y., June 18, 1879.] 

I. 

From tlie lily of love that uncloses 

In tlie glow of a festival kiss, 
On the vdnd that is heavy with roses, 

And shrill with the bugles of bliss, 
Let it float o'er the mystical ocean 

That breaks on the kingdom of night — 
Our oath of eternal devotion 

To the heroes who died for the right 1 

II. 
They loved, as we love — yet they parted 

From all that man's spirit can prize ; 
Left woman and child broken-hearted, 

Staring up to the pitiless skies ; 
Left the tumult of youth, the rich guerdon 

Hope promised to conquer from fate ; 
Gave all for the agonised burden 

Of death, for the Flag and the State. 

III. 
Where they roam on the slopes of the moun- 
tain 
That only by angels is trod. 



■ M ■■ « I i Mn iii - ■III iMlrl H iiiil Ifi l i rmwfc— llll fc lllHiilii M - I I 



l8o WANDERERS. 

Where they muse by the crystalline foun- 
tain — 

The mystical, effluent God, 
Are they lost in unspeakable splendour ? 

Do they never look back and regret ? — 
Ah, the valiant are constant and tender, 

And honour can never forget ! 



Divine in their pitying sadness 

They grieve for their comrades of earth ; 
They will hear us, and start into gladness, 

And echo the notes of our mirth ; 
They vpill lift their white hands with a 
blessing 

We shall know by the tear that it brings — 
The rapture of friendship confessing, 

With harps and the waving of wings 



In the grim and relentless upheaval 

That blesses the world through a curse, — 
Still bringing the good out of evil. 

The garland of peace on the hearse ! — 
They were shattered, consumed, and for- 
saken. 

Like the shadows that fly from the dawn : 
We may never know why they were taken, 

But we always shall feel they are gone. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. l8l 



If the wind that sighs over our prairies 

No longer is solemn with knells, 
But lovely with flowers and fairies, 

And sweet with the calm Sabbath bells ; 
If virtue, in cottage and palace. 

Leads love to the bridal of pride, 
'Tis because out of war's bitter chalice 

Our heroes drank deeply — and died. 



Ah, grander in doom-stricken glory 

Than the greatest that linger behind, 
They shall live in perpetual story, 

"Who saved the last hope of mankind ! 
For their cause was the cause of the races 

That languished in slavery's night ; 
And the death that was pale on their 
faces 

Has filled the whole world with its light I 



To the clouds and the mountains we breathe 
it; 

To the freedom of planet and star ; 
Let the tempests of ocean enwreathe it ; 

Let the winds of the night bear it far, — 



mneaamammMamm Liim[UJ > *^ fmmmm^tmimi^''''fmi'* wm mm im i mr f " * .i -'hiw i i k 



1 82 WANDERERS. 

Our oath, that, till manhood shall perish, 
And honour and virtue are sped, 

"We are true to the cause that they cherish, 
And eternally true to the dead 1 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

[Read at the Atlantic Festival in Commemora- 
tion OF THE Seventieth Birthday of Oliver 
Wendell Holmes, at Boston, December 3, 
1879.] 

If that glad song had ebbed away. 

Which, rippling on through smiles and 
tears. 
Has bathed with showers of diamond spray 

The rosy fields of seventy years, — 

K that sweet voice were hushed to-day 

What should we say ? 

At first we thought him but a jest, 
A ray of laughter, quick to fade ; 

We did not dream how richly blest 
In his pure life our lives were made 

Till soon the aureole shone, confest, 
Upon his crest. 

Wlien violets fade the roses blow ; 
When laughter dies the passions wake : 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMOBATION. 1 83 

His royal song that slept below, 

Like Arthur's sword beneath the lake, 
Long since has flashed its fiery glow 
O'er all we know. 

That song has poured its sacred light 
On crimson flags in freedom's van, 

And blessed their serried ranks, who fight 
Life's battle here for truth and man — 

An oriflamme, to cheer the right, 
Through darkest night ! 

That song has flecked with rosy gold 
The sails that fade o'er fancy's sea; 

Eelumed the storied days of old ; 
Presaged the glorious life to be ; 

And many a sorrowing heart consoled 
In grief untold. 

When, shattered on the loftiest steep 
The statesman's glory ever found, 

That heart, so like the boundless deep, 
Broke, in the deep no heart can bound, 

How did his dirge of sorrow weep 
O'er Webster's sleep ! 

How sweetly did his spirit pour 
The strains that make the tear-drops start, 



184 WANDERERS. 

"When, on the bleak New England shore, 

With Tara's harp and Erin's heart, 
He thrilled us to the bosom's core 
With thoughts of Mooee ! 

The shamrock, green on Liffey's side. 
The lichen 'neath New England snows, 

White daisies of the fields of Clyde, 
Twined ardent round old Albion's rose, 

Bloom in his verse, as blooms the bride. 
With love and pride. 

The silken tress, the mantling wine, 

Ked roses, summer's whispering leaves. 
The lips that kiss, the hands that twine, 
The heart that loves, the heart that 
grieves — 
They all have found a deathless shrine 
In his rich line ! 

Ah well, that voice can charm us yet, 
And still that shining tide of song, 

Beneath a sun not soon to set. 
In golden music flows along. 

With dew of joy our eyes are wet — 
Not of regret. 

For still, as comes the festal day, 
In many a temple, far and near, 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMOEATIOK. 1 85 

The words that all have longed to say, 
The words that all are proud to hear, 
Fall from his lips, with conquering sway, 
Or grave or gay. 

No moment this for passion's heat, 
Nor mine the voice to give it scope, 

When love and fame and beauty meet 
To crown their Memory and their Hope ! 

I cast white lUies, cool and sweet, 
Here at his feet. 

True bard, true soul, true man, true friend ! 

Ah, gently on that reverend head 
Ye snows of wintry age descend, 

Ye shades of mortal night be shed ! 
Peace guide and guard him to the end, 
And Love defend ! 



A LOTOS FLOWER. 

[On the Tenth Birthday of the Lotos Club, 
New York, March 27, 1880.] 

I. 
Though still the heart of twilight grieves, 

As evening's sun sinks low, 
And sad winds stir the faUen leaves 

With songs of long ago. 



rararaW W » U I L I H r ii lW Miil l W 



1 86 WANDERERS. 

No shadow grim can ever dim 

The glory of this hour, 
Wlien thus the blazing hearth we trim 

Beneath the Lotos flower. 



Old time may quench illusion's light, 

And dreams of youth depart, 
But neither time nor truth can blight 

The sunshine of the heart — 
That gentle light of pure content, 

Our sober manhood's dower. 
Sweet peace and calm affection, blent 

Beneath the Lotos flower. 



In that dusk land of mystic dream 

Where dark Osiris sprung, 
It bloomed beside his sacred stream. 

While yet the world was young ; 
And every secret nature told. 

Of golden wisdom's power, 
Is nestled still in every fold 

Within the Lotos flower. 



Here let our weary burdens fall, 
And passion's longings cease : 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 87 

The gods of life have given all, 
When once they give us peace 1 

Black care shall vanish in a laugh, 
Forgot be beauty's bower, 

When thus the loving cup we quaff, 
Beneath the Lotos flower ! 



ELEGY AT AELINGTOK 

[Read in Arlington Cemetery, Washington, D.C, 
ON Decoration Day, May 31, 1880.] 

I. 
If this were all, if lost with those that per- 
ished, — 
O'er whom these winds of summer softly 
sigh, — 
Our hopes were buried with the hearts we 
cherished. 
And life were nothing but to toil and die ; 

What sadder scene than this that blooms 
before us. 
With nature's garlands decked, coidd 
earth display ? 
What mockery were this heaven that's 
bending o'er us, 
Glad with the sunshine of the glittering 
May! 



»g«>»TBKa«»sf^-|.Ji | i|.>K | nil K il l m ii irir i i- 



1 88 WANDERERS. 

But here, where late with naked branches 
striving, — 
"Wet with the icy tears of wintry grief, — 
Across this lonely field of sorrow driving 
The angry tempest whirled the withered 
leaf; 

Now swings the pendant bloom, now open- 
ing roses 
Woo the soft zephyrs with their balmy 
breath ; 
Boughs wave, birds sing, and silver mist 
reposes, 
In bliss, above these emerald waves of 
death. 

And sure the Power, that out of desolation 
Can thus the arid wastes of earth relume, 
Ne'er meant the crown of all its vast crea- 
tion 
One hour of woe, and then the eternal 
tomb ! 

But, were this all — were hope with being 
ended, 
In these dark cells that shrine our sacred 
dead ; 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 89 

Were all our prayers and tears in vain ex- 
pended, 
Our passion, labour, faith forever sped ; 

Who would not yet — all selfish impulse 
spuming — 
Live for mankind, and triumph with the 
just! 
Who, from the field of honour backward 
turning, 
Would trail a sullied ensign in the dust 1 

Though fate were cruel, human will un- 
daunted. 
Supreme o'er torture, regnant over time, 
Can spurn the bitterest foe that ever vaunted 
This mortal frailty which were nature's 
crime ! 

It may be — every generous trust for- 
bidden — 
That, while these beauteous orbs of ruin 
roll, 
From the dark sleep in which the dead are 
hidden 
A flower can wake, but not the human 
soul: 



I go WANDERERS. 

Yet, sweet is every love and every longing ; 
Yet shines the dream of heaven in child- 
hood's eyes ; 
And troops of angel phantoms still come 
thronging 
To fancy's vision, in the twilight skies : 

Yet stirs the heart vdth nameless, vague 
emotion, 
When moonlight sleeps upon the summer 
sea; 
Yet forest depths and lonely wastes of 
ocean 
And mountain voices set the spirit free : 

And, borne on wings of glorious endeavour, 
Man yet can soar above his baser clay — 

Throned in high deeds, forever and forever. 
That cannot die, and will not pass away ! 

II. 
High were their deeds, o'er whom our 
hearts are weeping ! 
Safe bides their fame, in all men's love 
and praise ! 
Hallowed the mould in which their dust is 
sleeping. 
And sweet the memory that has crowned 
their days ! 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. I9I 

Ah, once for them young hope unveiled her 
splendour ! 
Ah, once for them time ran in golden 
sands ! 
They knew affection's accents, soft and 
tender, 
They felt the touch of loving lips and 
hands. 

They saw the awful face of sovereign 
beauty ; 
White arms of proud ambition lured 
them on ; 
But in their hearts breathed low the voice 
of duty — 
They heard it, and they answered : they 
are gone. 

The midnight wind was cold upon their 
faces, — 
Pale in the silence of the crimson sod ; 
But who shall paint through what resplen- 
dent spaces 
Their souls sprang upward to the light 
of God ! 

No more, for them, in summer twilight's 
glimmer, 
Shall distant music smite the chords of 
pain: 



193 WANDERERS. 

No more, as evening shades grow slowly 
dimmer, 
Shall wandering fragrance pierce the tor- 
tured brain ! 



No more of lingering doubt, nor stern de- 
nial, 
Nor baffled toil, nor slow, embittering 
strife ! 
But now, at once, the crown of earthly- 
trial, — 
The long, long summer of eternal life ! 

Calm-fronted, staunch, expectant, and un- 
shaken, 
"Who dares the worst that any fate can 
bring — 
Tor him, by iron purpose ne'er forsaken. 
The grave no victory has, and death no 
sting ! 

"We can but serve : some, by the instant 
giving 
Of all that hand could do or heart could 
prize ; 
Some, by a meek, laborious, patient living, 
A daily toil, an hourly sacrifice. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. I93 

We falter on, now hoping, now despairing, 
And hour by hour drag out life's little 



They passed, in one tremendous deed of 
daring, — 
They lived for honour, and they died for 
man ! 

Pile thick the amaranth and the myrtle o'er 
them — 
Tor whom our laurelled banners flash and 
flow — 
Koses that love and pansies that deplore 
them, 
And lilies, weeping from their hearts of 
snow. 

Breathe low, ye murmuring pines, ye whis- 
pering grasses ! 
Ye dews of summer night fall softly here ! 
Be sorrow's sigh in every breeze that 
passes. 
And every rain-drop be a mourner's tear ! 

And 0, ye stars, ye holy lights that cumber 
The deep of heaven, pour benedictions 
down! 

N 



194 WANDERERS. 

Shed your sweet incense on this sacred 
slumber — 
Bright as our love, and pure as their re- 
nown ! 

Breathe our farewell ! ah, very gently 
breathe it, — 
Like ocean's murmur in the coral shell, 
And tender as the sea-flowers that en- 
wreathe it, — 
For ever and for evermore, Farewell ! 



EDWIN BOOTH. 

[June 15, 1880.] 
I. 
His barque will fade, in mist and night, 

Across the dim sea-line. 
And coldly on our aching sight 

The solemn stars will shine — 
All, all in mournful silence, save 

For ocean's distant roar — 
Heard where the slow, regretful wave 

Sobs on the lonely shore, 

II. 
But, oh, while, winged with love and prayer, 
Our thoughts pursue his track, 



TRIBUTE AKD COMMEMORATION. I95 

What glorious sights the midnight air 

Will proudly waft us back ! 
What golden words will flutter down 

From many a peak of fame, 
What glittering shapes of old renown 

That cluster round his name I 



O'er storied Denmark's haunted ground 

Will darkly drift again, 
Dream-like and vague, without a sound, 

The spectre of the Dane ; 
And breaking hearts will be the wreath 

For grief that knows no tear, 
When shine on Cornwall's storm-swept 
heath 

The blazing eyes of Lear. 

IV. 

Slow, 'mid the portents of the storm 

And fate's avenging powers. 
Will moody Eichard's haggard form 

Pace through the twilight hours ; 
And wildly hurtling o'er the sky 

The red star of Macbeth, — 
Torn from the central arch on high, — 

Go down in dusty death ! 



196 WANDERERS. 

V. 

But — best of all ! will softly rise 

His form of manly grace — 
The noble brow, the honest eyes, 

The sweetly patient face, 
The loving heart, the stately mind 

That, conquering every ill, 
Through seas of trouble cast behind, 

Was grandly steadfast still 1 



Though skies might gloom and tempest rave, 

Though friends and hopes might fall, 
His constant spirit, simply brave, 

Would meet and suffer all — 
Would calmly smile at fortune's frown. 

Supreme o'er gain or loss ; 
And he the worthiest wears the crown 

That gently bore the cross ! 



Be blithe and bright, thou jocund day 

That golden England knows ! 
Bloom sweetly round the wanderer's way, 

Thou royal English rose ! 
And English hearts [no need to tell 

How truth itself endures ! ] 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. IQ/ 

This soul of maiihood treasure well, 
Our love commits to yours ! 



Farewell ! nor mist, nor flying cloud, 

Nor night can ever dim 
The wreath of honours, pure and proud, 

Our hearts have twined for him ! 
But bells of memory still shall chime, 

And violets star the sod, 
TiU our last broken wave of time 

Dies on the shores of God. 



ADELAIDE NEILSOK. 

[Died August 15, 1880.J 

And oh, to think the sun can shine, 
The birds can sing, the flowers can bloom, 

And she, whose soul was all divine. 
Be darkly mouldering in the tomb : 

That o'er her head the night-wind sighs, 
And the sad cypress droops and moans ; 

That night has veiled her glorious eyes. 
And silence hushed her heavenly tones : 



I go WANDERERS. 

That those sweet lips no more can smile, 
Nor pity's tender shadows chase, 

"With many a gentle, child-like wile. 
The rippling laughter o'er her face : 

That dust is on the burnished gold 
That floated round her royal head ; 

That her great heart is dead and cold — ; 
Her form of fire and beauty dead ! 

EoU on, gray earth and shining star, 
And coldly mock our dreams of bliss ; 

There is no glory left to mar, 
Nor any grief so black as this 1 



JOHN" McCULLOUGH. • 

[April 4, 1881.] 

Long hushed is the harp* that his glory 
had spoken. 
Long stilled is the heart that could sum- 
mon its strain ; 
Now its chords are all silent, or tuneless, 
or broken, 
"What touch can awaken its music again ! 

* The harp of Moore. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 1 99 

Ah, the breeze in the green dells of Erin is 
blowing ! 
If not her great bard yet her spirit can 
flame, 
"When proud where the waters of Shannon 
are flowing 
Her groves and her temples re-echo his 
name. 



Float softly o'er shamrocks, and blue-bells, 
and roses, 
Blend all their gay tints and their odours 
in one ; 
And sweet as the zephyr in twilight that 
closes 
Be the kiss of thy love on the brows of 
thy son ! 



Breathe tenderly o'er us, who cluster 
around him. 
In this, his glad moment of triumph and 
pride : 
Deep, deep in our souls are the ties that 
have bound him. 
And life will be lone, with his presence 
denied. 



200 WANDEREKS. 

From the arms of the mother, in childhood 
a rover, 
To exile he came, on the wanderer's 
shore : 
To the arms of the mother, his trials all 
over. 
And honoured and laurelled, we yield 
him once more. 

Speak low of affection that longs to embrace 
him, 
Speak loud of the fame that awaits him 
afar — 
Wlien homage shall hail him, and beauty 
shall grace him. 
And pomp hang her wreaths on the con- 
queror's car ! 

When the shadows of time at his touch 
fall asunder, 
And heroes and demi-gods leap into light ; 
"When the accents of Brutus ring wild in the 
thunder. 
And the white locks of Lear toss like sea- 
foam in night ; 

When the grief of the Moor, like a tempest 
that dashes 
On crags in mid-ocean, has died into rest ; 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMOKATION. 201 

When the heart of Virginius breaks, o'er 
the ashes 
Of her who was sweetest, and purest, and 
best; 

How proudly, how gladly their praise will 
caress him ! 
How brightly the jewels will blaze in his 
crown ! 
How the white hands of honour will greet 
him and bless him 
With lilies and roses of perfect renown ! 

Ah, grand is the flight of the eagle of morn- 
ing. 
While the dark world beneath him drifts 
into the deep ; 
But cold as the snow-wreaths the moun- 
tains adorning 
Is the light that illumines his desolate 



When the trumpets are blown and the 
standards are streaming. 
And the festal lamps beam on the royal 
array. 
How oft will the heart of the monarch be 
dreaming 
Of the home and the friends that are far, 
far away ! 



202 WANDKREKS. 

There's a pulse in his breast that would 
always regret us — 
It dances in laughter, it trembles in tears ; 
With the world at his feet, he would never 
forget us. 
And our hearts would be true, through an 
seon of years ! 

The cymbals may clash and the gay pennons 
glisten. 
And the clangour of gladness ring jocund 
and free. 
But, calm in the tumult, his spirit will listen 
For our whisper of love, floating over the 
sea: 

For the music of tones that were once so 
endearing 
(Like a wind of the west o'er a prairie of 
flowers). 
But that never agaui will resound in his 
hearing. 
Except through the tremulous sadness of 
ours. 

Ah, manly and tender, thy deeds are thy 
praises ! 
Speed on in thy grandeur, all peerless and 
lone. 



TKIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 203 

And greet, in old England, her liawthoms 
and daisies, — 
A spirit as gentle and bright as their own ! 

Speed on, wheresoever fame's angel may 
guide thee ! 
No fancy can dream and no language can 
tell 
What faith and what blessings walk ever 
beside thee. 
Or the depth of our love as we bid thee 
Farewell. 



LAWRENCE BAERETT. 

[June 7, 1881.] 



When from his gaze our shores receding 

In night and distance drift away. 
And, every present joy unheeding. 

He turns to muse, and giieve, and pray, 
How will regret and memory, meeting, 

This brilliant scene bring back to view. 
And hear once more your manly greeting, 

And sigh once more his fond adieu ! 



204 WANDERERS. 



And we, by sadness made more tender, 

As here we knit our broken chain — 
How gladly will affection render 

Our gentle tribute once again ! 
How sweet 'twill be, though joys are 
thwarted, 

And smiles rebuked by sorrow's sigh, 
To think, however friends are parted. 

At least that friendship cannot die I 



His eyes will look on English meadows 

Where scarlet poppies smile and dream ; 
And he will muse where wandering shadows 

Drift over Avon's sacred stream ; 
And, mind and soul in bondage taken, 

"Will roam those temples strange and vast 
"Where every pensive step will waken 

The glorious memories of the past. 



But we shall hear, in grief beclouded. 
Poor Harebell mourn his ruined home ; 

And see, in night and tempest shrouded, 
Grim Cassius pace the stones of Rome ; 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 205 

With grizzled Yorick, frenzy-ridden, 
From passion's fevered dream awake ; 

And feel, with tears that flow unbidden, 
The royal heart of Scotland break. 



0, art divine, supreme, undying — 

Not time nor space can e'er subdue ! 
The seas roll on — the years are flying — 

Man passes — thou alone art true ! 
No cloud can dim their deathless lustre 

Whose names thy angel hands enroll, 
Nor blight the shining shapes that cluster 

In thy pantheon of the soul ! 



Yet, many a cherished tie is broken, 

Across that darkening waste of sea ! — 
They make no sign, they send no token, 

They come not back to love and me. 
I know where, deaf to blames and praises, 

In youth and beauty cold and dead, 
Kests now beneath old England's daisies 

Her tenderest heart, her loveliest head ! 

VII. 

And him we cast the roses after 

Whose cynic smile was humour's kiss — 



206 WANDEKERS. 

Whose magic turned the world, to laugh- 
ter — 

"Where dwells he, in an hour like this ? . . . 
Ah, let us think, though gone before us, — 

The vanished friends of days no more, — 
They watch with fond affection o'er us, 

And bless us, from their heavenly shore. 

Till. 

I see the radiant phantoms thronging, 

To clasp him in their guardian thrall I 
I bless him, by each noble longing 

That e'er his gentle lips let fall ! 
By all high thought and pure devotion — 

By towering pine and nestling rose ! 
Farewell, farewell 1 on land or ocean — 

God bless him, wheresoe'er he goes I 



A MEMORY. 

[G. A. — October, i88i.] 



The peace of this autumnal day 
Allures my dreaming thoughts away 
To that great world beyond the deep, 
Where I so many treasures keep. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 20/ 

There, fond and true, one friend I find, 
"Whose tender heart and constant mind 
Gave, while he lingered here on earth, 
Comfort, and cheer, and hope, and mirth ; 
And still they waft a cordial breath 
Across the icy waves of death. 
His nature, while he dwelt below. 
Was like these days : this season's glow, 
The misty sky, the sleeping sea. 
The browning grass, the burnished tree, 
The wild-flowers, swinging o'er the brook. 
Were in his heart as in his book. 
Alive, he charmed away life's fret 
With all the sunshine he could get, 
And, when death whispered, softly crept 
Into a quiet place and slept ; 
And nature never saw such grace 
As hallowed then his noble face. 
And so, to think upon him here, 
In this sweet season of the year, — 
Which he so loved, which he was like 
As clouds are to the clouds they strike, — 
Is winning peace, and strength to live, 
Beyond what all the world can give. 



Ah, not to me, dear heart, was said 
The word that crowned thy royal head 



208 WANDEEERS. 

First with the aureole's light and bloom, 
And then the amaranth of the tomb. 
Fate gave thee power, and calm, and poise, 
And all thy days and deeds were joys. 
Thine were the forest and the flood, 
The sunrise sparkled in thy blood, 
And thou didst hold a careless flight 
Above the dells and caves of night. 
But ever through thy smile shone clear 
The lustre of compassion's tear, 
The pity of thy gentle mind, 
And tenderness, for all mankind. 
I saw thee with a wistful eye, 
And saddened — and I knew not why ; 
Till soon, too soon, thy summons came. 
And thou wert nothing but a name. 
Ah, day of misery and of moan. 
When grief and I were left alone ! 



Fate gave not me her smile benign — 
That pensive, playful calm of thine — 
But early from her bosom cast, 
To be the sport of every blast, 
To war with passion, and to know 
The sting of want, the pang of woe, — 
Forcing a soul, for kindness born, 
To every strife it held in scorn. 



"*"* 



TKIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 209 

So, careless whether right or wrong, 

I battled through the hostile throng. 

And felt, whatever doom might be, 

Or life or death, the same to me. 

'Twas then across my pathway lone 

The holy star of friendship shone ! 

'Twas then thy kindness soothed my pain. 

And arched the heaven of hope again 1 

As, sudden through the stormy dark, 

Pull on the tempest-battered barque. 

Home's glad and golden beacons shine, 

So flashed thy spirit upon mine : 

And not, though hope's last star were set 

Could this true heart of mine forget ! 



Now, of our few but happy years 
Kemains this flower, that bloomed in tears ; 
Not of the crown of life bereft 
Is he who yet has patience left. 
The haggard sky, the surf's dull roar. 
The midnight storm, are mine no more : 
But mine the gleam of setting sun. 
The call of birds when day is done. 
The last, sad light, so loath to pass 
It weeps upon the golden grass. 
The sigh of leaves, in evening air, 
The distant bell that calls to prayer, — 
o 



2IO WANDERERS. 

And nothing from my spirit bars 
The benediction of the stars. 



Ah, loved so well and mourned so long, 

Here in my heart as in my song, 

To thy dear memory let me raise 

One tender strain of other days. 

One paean to the good thou wast, 

One low lament for all I lost. 

Yet, looking o'er life's arid track. 

Kind soul, I would not wish thee back. 

What sadder lot, what doom of fate. 

More sterile is, more desolate, 

Than here to goad our wearied powers. 

And toil through times that are not ours 1 

Ah, no, the silence now is best. 

The leaf down -fluttering o'er thy rest. 

And every kind, caressing sigh 

That nature breathes o'er those that die; 

While thou, in some serener sphere, 

Forgett'st the toils and troubles here ; 

Or, made a part of flowers and trees. 

Art pure, and calm, and safe, like these. 

— Slow pales the light ; the day declines ; 

The night- wind murmurs in the pines ; 

The stars come out, and, far away, 

Across the sweetly sleeping bay 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 211 

One snow-white saU, by sunset kist, 
Fades slowly in the ocean mist, 
Fades — like all joys and griefs we know, 
And like this dream of Long Ago, 



LONGFELLOW. 

[Died March 24, 1882.] 

Alone, at night, he heard them sigh — 
These wild March winds that beat his 
tomb — 

Alone, at night, from those that die. 
He sought one ray to light his gloom. 

And still he heard the night-winds moan, 
And still the mystery closed him round. 

And stiU the darkness, cold and lone. 
Sent forth no ray, returned no sound. 

But time at last the answer brings. 
And he, past all our suns and snows, 

At rest with peasants and with kings. 
Like them the wondrous secret knows. 

Alone, at night, we hear them sigh — 
These wild March winds that stir his 
pall; 



212 WANDERERS. 

And, helpless, "wandering, lost, we cry 
To his dim ghost to tell us all. 

He loved us while he lingered here ; 

"We loved him — never love more true ! 
He will not leave in doubt and fear 

The human grief that once he knew. 

For never yet was horn the day 

When, faint of heart and weak of limb, 

One suffering creature turned away, 
Unhelped, unsoothed, uncheered by him ! 

But still through darkness, dense and 
bleak, 

The winds of March moan wildly round, 
And still we feel that all we seek 

Ends in that sigh of vacant sound. 

He cannot tell us — none can tell 
What waits behind the mystic veil ! 

Yet he who lived and died so well, 
In that, perchance, has told the tale. 

Not to the wastes of nature drift — 
Else were this world an evil dream — 

The crown and soul of nature's gift. 
By Avon or by Charles's stream ! 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 213 

His song was like the pine-tree's sigh, 
At midnight o'er a poet's grave. 

Or like the sea-bird's distant cry, 
Borne far across the twilight wave. 

There is no flower of meek delight, 
There is no star of heavenly pride, 

That shines not fairer and more bright 
Because he lived, loved, sang, and died. 

Wild winds of March, his requiem sing 1 
"Weep o'er him, April's sorrowing skies 1 

Till come the tender buds of spring 
To deck the pillow where he lies : 

Till violets pour their purple flood. 
That wandering myrtle shall not lack, 

And, royal with the summer's blood. 
The roses that he loved come back : 

Till all that nature gives of light. 
To rift the gloom and point the way, 

Shall sweetly pierce our mortal night, 
And symbol his immortal day ! 



214 WANDERERS. 



WILLIAM WAEEEN.* 

Eed globes of autumn strew the sod, 
The bannered woods wear crimson 
shields, 
The aster and the golden-rod 
Deck all the fields. 

No clarion blast, at morning blown. 

Should greet the way-worn veteran here, 
Nor roll of drum nor trumpet-tone 
Assail his ear. 

No jewelled ensigns now should smite, 

With jarring flash, down emerald steeps. 
Where sweetly in the sunset light 
The valley sleeps. 

No bolder ray should bathe this bower 

Than when, above the glimmering stream, 
The crescent moon, in twilight's hour, 
Pirst sheds her beam. 

No ruder note should break the thrall. 

That love and peace and honour weave, 
Than some lone wild-bird's gentle call, 
At summer eve. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 215 

But here should float the voice of song — 

Like evening winds in autumn leaves, 
Sweet with the balm they waft along 
From golden sheaves. 

The sacred past should feel its spell, 

And here should murmur, soft and low, 
The voices that he loved so well, — 
Long, long ago. 

The vanished scenes should give to this 

The cherished forms of other days. 
And rosy lips that felt his kiss 
Breathe out his praise. 

The comrades of his young renown 

Should proudly throng around him now, 
When falls the spotless laurel crown 
Upon his brow. 

Not in their clamorous shouts who make 

The noonday pomp of glory's lord 
Does the true soul of manhood take 
Its high reward. 

But when from all the glimmering years 

Beneath the moonlight of the past 
The strong and tender spirit hears 
'Well done,' at last; 



MMllite 



2l6 WANDERERS. 

When love looks forth from heavenly eyes, 

And heavenly voices make acclaim, 
And all his deeds of kindness rise 
To bless his name ; 

When all that has been sweetly blends 

With all that is, and both revere 
The life so lovely in its ends, 
So pure, so dear ; 

Then leaps indeed the golden flame 

Of blissful pride to rapture's brim — 
The fire that sacramental fame 
Has lit for him ! 

For him who, lord of joy and woe, 

Through half a century's snow-white 
years 
Has gently ruled, in humour's glow, 
The fount of tears. 

True, simple, earnest, patient, kind. 

Through griefs that many a weaker will 
Had stricken dead, his noble mind 
Was constant still. 

Sweet, tender, playful, thoughtful, droll. 
His gentle genius still has made 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMOKATION. 1l^ 

Mirth's perfect sunshine in the soul, 
And pity's shade. 

"With amaranths of eternal spring 

Be all his life's calm evening drest, 
WhUe summer winds around him sing 
The songs of rest ! 

And thou, O Memory, strange and dread. 
That stand' st on heaven's ascending 
slope, 
Lay softly on his reverend head 
The Vfreath of hope ! 

So softly, — when the port he wins, 

To which life's happiest breezes blow, — 
That where earth ends and heaven begins 
He shall not know. 



GOOD-NIGHT. 

[W. A. S. — Died January 7, 1883.] 

' GooD-NiGHT, my boy ' ; and with a smile 
He turned his steps and sped away : 

Since then 'tis but a little while, 
And he is dead to-day : 



nn>i«i«innmMi 



21 8 WANDEKERS. 

Dead — and the friend that once I knew, 
My comrade both in joy and pain, 

So often tried and always true, 
Wni never smile again. 

His days were many, and the world 

Had most of all his thought and care ; 
But now his sails of toil were furled 

In art's sereuer air. 
The evening lamp, the storied page. 

The mantling glass, the song, the jest — 
These turned the twilight of his age 

To morning and to rest. 

The thorny paths of life he knew ; 

His tender heart was quick to feel ; 
And wounds his pity wept to view. 

His bounty glowed to heal. 
Of worldly ways, of frailty's slips. 

Of mortal sin, he had his share ; 
Yet still could breathe, with childhood's lips. 

His artless childhood's prayer. 

Good deeds were all the work he wrought; 

Sweet thoughts and merry all he prized ; 
Nor power nor fame by him was sought, 

Nor homely life despised. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMOEATION. 219 

Strife could not live before his face, 
But wheresoe'er his footsteps fell 

Came kindness, with its smile of grace, 
And everything was well. 

He did not strive to win the heights ; 

Enough for him the lowly vale, 
The autumn sunset's pensive lights, 

The autumn's perfumed gale : 
But toilers on the upward slope, 

Who greatly strove and bravely dared, 
Had cheer of him, and felt new hope, 

Howe'er their fortune fared. 

To brighten life, where'er he went. 

With laughter's sparkle, and to make 
Home's fireside lovely with content, 

For gentle humour's sake — 
That was his fate. Ah, darkly shows 

The path where yesterday he shone, — 
That downward path of many woes 

That we must tread, alone. 

Yet he, like us, had lost and grieved : 
He knew how hard it is to bear. 

When, lone and listless and bereaved, 
We sink in dumb despair : 



220 WANDERERS. 

And could those lips, now marble chill, 
But speak once more from that true heart, 

With what a jocund, blithe good-will 
They'd bid our grief depart I 

It was but yesterday he went : 

This is the room and that the door : 
When some few idle days are spent 

'Twill all be as before : 
The heavenly morning will destroy 

This rueful dream of death and pain. 
And I shall hear him say, ' My boy,' 

And clasp his hand again. 



HENEY IRVING. 

I. — AVE. November i8, 1883. 

If we could win from Shakespeare's river 

The music of its murmuring flow, 
With all the wild-bird notes that quiver 

Where Avon's scarlet meadows glow ; 
If we could twine with joy at meeting 

Their prayers who lately grieved to part, 
Ah, then indeed our song of greeting 

Might find an echo in his heart ! 



"oaisssss^^ss. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 221 

But though we cannot, in our singing, 

That music and those prayers entwine, 
At least we'll set our blue-bells ringing 

And he shall hear our whispering pine ; 
And these shall breathe a welcome royal, 

In accents tender, sweet, and kind, 
From lips as fond and hearts as loyal 

As any that he left behind. 

II. — VALE. April 29, 1884. 

Far off beyond the shining sea, 

Where scarlet poppies glisten, 
And daisies on the emerald lea 

Lift up their heads and listen. 
Where Thames and Avon glance and glow, 

To-day the waters, straying, 
Will murmur in their tranquil flow 

The words that we are saying. 

Ah, not in parting hours alone 

Is fond affection spoken : 
The love that weeps in sorrow's moan 

Still smiles in welcome's token. 
Farewell, farewell our hearts will sigh, 

When void and dark his place is ; 
But ' Well for me ' is England's cry. 

To him her love embraces ! 



222 WANDERERS. 

Farewell, thou child of many a prayer ! 

While lonely we deplore thee, 
All crystal be the seas that bear 

And skies that sparkle o'er thee. 
Thy mother's heart, thy mother's lip 

Will soon once more caress thee — 
We can but watch thy lessening ship 

And, in our silence, bless thee ! 

But let the golden waves leap up 

While yet our hearts beat near him ! 
No bitter drop be in the cup 

With which our hope would cheer him ! 
Pour the red roses at his feet ! 

Wave laurel boughs above him ! 
And if we part or if we meet 

Be glad and proud to love him ! 

His life has made this iron age 

More grand and fair in story ; 
Illumed our Shakespeare's sacred page 

With new and deathless glory ; 
Kefreshed the love of noble fame 

In hearts all sadly faring, 
And lit anew the dying flame 

Of genius and of daring. 

Long may his radiant summer smile 
Where Albion's rose is dreaming, 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 223 

And over art's Hesperian isle 

His royal banner streaming ; 
While every trumpet blast that rolls 

From Britain's lips to hail him 
Is echoed in our kindred souls, 

Whose truth can never fail him. 

On your white vpings, ye angel years, 

Through roseate sunshine springing, 
Waft fortune from all happier spheres, 

With garlands and with singing ; 
Make strong that tender heart and true — 

That thought of heaven to guide him — 
And blessings pour, like diamond dew, 

On her that walks beside him 1 

And when is said the last farewell, 

So solemn and so certain. 
And fate shall strike the prompter's bell, 

To drop the final curtain. 
Be his, whom every muse hath blest, 

That best of earthly closes — 
To sink to rest on England's breast. 

And sleep beneath her roses. 

III. — VALE. April 6, 1883. 

Now fades across the glimmering deep, now 

darkly drifts away 
The royal monarch of our hearts, the glory 

of our day ; 



224 WANDERERS. 

The pale stars shine, the night wind sighs, 

the sad sea makes its moan, 
And we, bereft, are standing here, in silence 

and alone. 



Gone every shape of power and dread his 

magic touch could paint ; 
Gone haunted Aram's spectral face, and 

England's martyred saint ; 
Gone Mathias, of the frenzied soul, and 

Louis' sceptred guile. 
The gentle head of poor Lesurques, and 

Hamlet's holy smile. 

No more in gray Messina's halls shall love 
and revel twine ; 

No more on Portia's midnight bowers the 
moon of summer shine ; 

No golden barge on Hampton's stream 
salute the perfumed shore ; 

No ghost on Denmark's rampart clifi af- 
fright our pulses more 1 

The morning star of art, he rose across the 

eastern sea 
To wake the slumbering harp and set the 

frozen fountain free ; 



tiiiifiiiiii iiiiii iiiiiiiiii ■!— iiiimwrii 



TKIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 22$ 

Now, wrapt in glory's mist, he seeks his 

orient skies again ; 
And tender thoughts in sorrowing hearts 

are all that must remain. . . . 



Slow fade, across a drearier sea, beneath a 
darker sky. 

The dreams that cheer, the lights that lure, 
the baffled hopes that die : 

Youth's trust, love's bliss, ambition's pride 
— the white wings all are flown, 

And memory walks the lonely shore, indif- 
ferent and alone. 

Yet sometimes o'er that shadowy deep, by 

wandering breezes blown, 
Float odours from Hesperian isles, with 

music's organ tone, 
And something stirs within the breast, a 

secret, nameless thrUl, 
To say, though worn and sear and sad, our 

hearts are human stiU ; — 

If not the torrid diamond wave that made 

young life sublime. 
If not the tropic rose that bloomed in every 

track of time, 

p 



226 WANDERERS. 

If not exultant passion's glow, when all 

the world was fair, 
At least one flash of heaven, one breath of 

art's immortal air ! 

Ah, God, make bright, for many a year, on 

Beauty's heavenly shrine. 
This hallowed fire that Thou hast lit, this 

sacred soul of Thine ! 
While love's sweet light and sorrow's tear, — 

life's sunshine dimmed with showers — 
Shall keep for aye his memory green in 

these true hearts of ours ! 



ELEGY AT EVERGEEEN.« 

[Elegy spoken at the Dedication of the Actors' 
Monument in Evergreen Cemetery, Brooklyn, 
N.Y., June 6, 1887.] 



Could we but feel that our lost ones are 
near us — 
"We in our darkness and they in their 

li2;ht — 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMOEATIOK. 227 

Could we but feel tliat they see us and hear 
us, 
Ah, what a splendour would stream 
through the night ! 
How this great world, in its jubilant 
madness. 
Hopeless no longer, nor vagrant, nor 
blind, 
Grandly would blaze through the heaven of 
gladness, 
Spuming the cloud of its sorrow behind ! 



Still soars the jest to the echoing rafter. 
Still the gay throng sparkles over the 
scene. 
Still the sweet air is a ripple of laughter, 
Eed gleams the rose and the myrtle is 
green ; 
Still the lights flash and the trumpet is 
sounding. 
Pennons are fluttered and banners un- 
furled — 
Where is the grace and the genius abound- 
ing 
Once that redeemed and illumined the 
world ? 



228 WANDERERS. 

III. 

Where are the hearts that were tenderly 
plighted, 
Long years ago, in the kingdom of flowers ? 
Where are the hands that were fondly 
united ? 
Where are the eyes that looked love into 
ours ? 
Yesterday was it, that vainly we hearkened, 
Hearing no longer the one cherished 
tone ? 
Yesterday was it, the heavens were 
darkened, 
Leaving us stricken, bewildered, and 
lone? 



Little hy little the roof-tree is crumbled. 
Slow from the branches the leaves drop 
away. 
Year after year we are broken and humbled, 

Nearing the desolate end of the play. 
Ked in the west, where the cloud-rack is 
scattered, 
Lowers, defeated, the fugitive sun ; 
Dreary and cold, like the life it has shat- 
tered, 
Night covers all and our journey is done. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 229 



Is there no more, when this pageant is 
ended ? . . . 
Here, where they slumber, the violet 
blows ; 
Here with the bird-note divinely are blended 

Soul of the lily and heart of the rose ! 
What though the rage of the tempest may 
cover, 
White with its anger, the shuddering 
plain — 
Soon will the kiss of its heavenly lover 
ThrUl it to verdure and beauty again. 

VI. 

Ah, when we burst from this fettered 
existence, 
Born into freedom and loosed into space, 
How shall we spurn, at what infinite dis- 
tance. 
All that has bound us in earthly disgrace I 
Who shall conceive what the soul may 
inherit ! 
Who shall declare the unspeakable bliss 
Kegnant and safe, in that world, for the 
spirit 
True to the right, through the trials of 
this! 






230 WANDEEEKS. 

VII. 

Dark for them, now, whom we hallow and 
honour, 
Dark and forlorn is the stage that was 
theirs ; 
Peace, with the garment of silence upon her. 
Broods o'er the dust of their sorrows and 
cares. 
Low lie their heads with the clods of the 
valley ; 
Never again will they come at our call ; 
Vainly around their cold ashes we rally ; 
Quenched are the lights, and the curtain 
must fall. 



Ends not this world in the night of denial ! 
Not for a grave were illumined the 
spheres ! 
Forward and far from this bondage and 
trial 
Love reaps, in rapture, the harvest of tears. 
Only for us is the pang of bereavement ; 
Theirs the same mission, yet more than 
the same — 
Loftier powers, and nobler achievement 
Wrought with the music of sweeter 
acclaim I 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 23 1 



Labour and pain, that were never requited, 

Passionate hope, that was never fulfilled, 
Dreams and desires, that were bafQ.ed and 
blighted, 

Pure aspirations, defeated and chilled, 
Weary vicissitude, strife, and dejection, — 

Pate gave them these, till it gave them 
release : 
Here the great heart of a comrade affection 

Gathers them home to the bosom of peace. 



Hallowed be ever this dream-haunted haven: 

Hallowed the shaft that we consecrate 
here ! 
Never may ominous pinion of raven 

Herald the spectre oblivion near ! 
Sentinel roses, bloom faithful and tender ! 

Guardian heavens, smile lovingly down, — 
Clouds in your sorrow and stars in your 
splendour, — 

Pouring the incense of deathless renown ! 

XI. 

Echoes of blessing, — from where, in our 
vision. 
Hearts never falter and eyes never 
weep, — 



IdNMitaia. 



232 WAKDERERS. 

Blown on wild winds from the mountains 
elysian, 
Drift, in sweet requiems, over their sleep ! 
Lift up our souls — till with pseans and 
dirges 
Merciful death shall at last set us free — 
There, where the moan of the infinite 
surges 
Dies on the shore of eternity's sea ! 



EAYMOND/ 

[An Epitaph.] 

His restless spirit, while on earth he dwelt, 
Wreathed with a smile whatever grief he 

felt, — 
And 'twas his lot, though crowned with 

public praise. 
Ample and warm, to walk in troubled ways. 
Glad was his voice, that all men laughed to 

hear, 
While few surmised the pang, the secret 

tear. 
Yet did that thrill of pathos flush the 

grace 
Of playful humour in his speaking face, 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 233 

Inform his fancy and inspire his art 

To cheer the senses and to touch the heart. 

Jocund and droll, incessant, buoyant, 

quaint, 
His vigour fired the forms his skill could 

paint, 
Till, over-anxious lest effects were tame, 
He left his picture, to adorn its frame, 
A mind more serious never did engage 
Through simulated mirth the comic stage, 
Nor strong ambition conquer and control 
A sturdier will and more aspiring soul. 
If haply, much constrained, his purpose 

bowed 
To woo the fancy of the fickle crowd. 
Yet did his judgment spurn the poor re- 
nown 
Of shallow jester and of trivial clown. 
A true comedian this, by fate designed 
To picture manners and to cheer mankind. 
So Raymond lived — and naught remains to 

tell. 
Save that too soon the final curtain fell. 
Peace to his dust, where love and honour 

weep, 
In endless sorrow, o'er their comrade's 

sleep. 

1887. 



mmat^gtmassaeta 



234 WANDERERS. 

LESTER WALLACK.8 

[December 17, 1887.] 

I. 

With a glimmer of plumes and a sparkle of 
lances, 
With blare of the trumpet and neigh of 
the steed, 
At morning they rode where the bright river 
glances 
And the sweet summer wind ripples over 
the mead. 
The green sod beneath them was ermined 
with daisies. 
Smiling up to green boughs tossing wild 
in their glee, 
While a thousand glad hearts sang their 
honours and praises, 
Where the knights of the mountain rode 
down to the sea. 

II. 

One rode 'neath the banner whose face was 
the fairest. 
Made royal with deeds that his manhood 
had done, 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 235 

And the halo of blessmg fell richest and 
rarest 
On his armour that splintered the shafts 
of the sun. — 
So moves o'er the waters the cygnet se- 
dately ; 
So waits the strong eagle to mount on the 
wing; 
Serene and puissant and simple and stately, 
So shines among princes the form of the 
kiug ! . . , 

III. 

With a gay bugle-note, when the daylight's 
last glimmer 
Smites, crimson and gold, on the snow of 
his crest. 
At evening he rides, through the shades 
growing dimmer, 
While the banners of sunset stream red 
in the west. 
His comrades of morning are scattered and 
parted — 
The clouds hanging low and the winds 
making moan — 
But, smiling and dauntless and calm and 
true-hearted. 
All proudly he rides down the valley, 
alone. 



236 WANDEEERS. 

IV. 

Sweet gales of the woodland, embrace and 
caress him ! 
White wings of renown, be his comfort 
and light ! 
Pale dews of the star-beam, encompass and 
bless him 
With the peace and the balm and the 
glory of night ! 
And, oh, while he wends to the verge of 
that ocean 
Where the years, like a garland, shall fall 
from his brow, 
May his glad heart exult in the tender devo- 
tion — 
The love that encircles and hallows him 
now ! 



THE STATUE. 

[Spoken at the Dedication of a Monument to 
THE Tragedian John McCullough, in Mount 
MoRiAH Cemetery, Philadelphia, November 28, 
1888.] 

I. 

How different now, old friend, the meeting ! 
Thy form, thy face, thy look the same — 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 237 

But where is now the kindly greeting, 
The voice of cheer, tlie heart of flame ? 

There, in thy grandeur, calm and splen- 
did,— 
God's peace on that imperial hrow, — 

Thou standest, grief and trouble ended, 
And we are nothing to thee now. 

II. 

Yet once again the air is cloven 

With joyous tumult of acclaim ; 
Once more the golden wreaths are woven, 

Of love and honour, for thy name ; 
And round thee here, with tender longing. 

As oft they did in days of old, 
The comrades of thy soul come thronging. 

Who never knew thee stern or cold. 



Why waits, in frozen silence sleeping, 

The smile that made our hearts rejoice ? 
Why, dead to laughing and to weeping. 

Is hushed the music of thy voice ? 
By what strange mood of reverie haunted 

Art thou, the gentle, grown austere ? 
And do we live in dreams enchanted. 

To know thee gone, yet think thee hero ? 



xMP^iff^ 



238 WANDERERS. 



Ah, fond pretence ! ah, sweet beguiling ! 

Too well I know thy course is run. 
There's no more grief and no more smiling 

For thee henceforth beneath the sun. 
In manhood's noon thy summons found thee, 

In glory's blaze, on fortune's height. 
Trailed the black robe of doom around thee, 

And veiled thy radiant face in night. 

V. 

This but the shadow of a vision 

Our mourning souls alone can see. 
That pierce through death to realms elysian 

More hallowed now because of thee. 
Yet, oh, what heart, with recollection 

Of thy colossal trance of pain, 
"Were now so selfish in affection 

To wish thee back from heaven again ! 

VI. 

There must be, in those boundless spaces 
Where thy great spirit wanders free, 

Abodes of bliss, enchanted places. 
That only love's white angels see ! 

And sure, if heavenly kindness showered 
On every sufferer 'neath the sun 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 239 

Shows any human spirit dowered 
With love angelic, thou wert one ! 



There's no grand impulse, no revealing, 

In all the glorious world of art, 
There's no sweet thought or noble feeling 

That throbbed not in thy manly heart ! 
There's no strong flight of aspiration, 

No reverent dream of realms divine, 
No pulse, no thrill, no proud elation 

Of god-like power that was not thine ! 



So stand forever, joyless, painless. 

Supreme alike o'er smiles and tears, 
Thou true man's image, strong and stain- 
less, 

Unchanged through all the changing 
years — 
While fame's blue crystal o'er thee bending 

With honour's gems shall blaze and burn, 
And rose and lily, round thee blending, 

Adorn and bless thy hallowed urn ' 

IX. 

While summer days are long and lonely, 
While autumn sunshine seems to weep, 



240 WANDERERS. 

While midnight hours are bleak, and only 
The stars and clouds their vigils keep, 

All gentle things that live shall moan thee, 
All fond regrets forever wake ; 

For earth is happier having known thee, 
And heaven is sweeter for thy sake ! 



WHITELAW EEID. 
I. — Honouk's Pearl. 

[May 3, 1889.] 



Because in danger's darkest hour, 

"When heart and hope sank low. 
She nerved our frail and faltering power 

To brave its mightiest foe ; 
Because our fathers smiled to see 

Her golden lilies dance 
O'er the proud field that made us free, 

"We plight our faith to Erance ! 



Ah, grand and sweet the holy bond, 
That who gives all is blest ! 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 24I 

And love can give no pledge beyond 

The life she loves the best. 
That pledge these hallowed rites declare, 

Of choice and not of chance — 
And he shall cross the sea to bear 

Our loyal hearts to France ! 



Strong, tender, gentle, patient, wise, 

Brave soul and constant mind, 
True wit, that kindles as it flies 

And leaves no grief behind, — 
Be thine to wear the snowy plume 

And poise the burnished lance — 
Our rose of chivalry, to bloom 

Among the knights of France ! 



Be thine the glorious task to speed 

The conquering age of gold — 
Till ravaged peace no more shall bleed, 

Till history's muse behold 
Borne in the van ward, fast and far. 

Of the free world's advance, 
Blent with Columbia's bannered star. 

The triple stripes of France ! 
Q 



242 WANDEKERS. 

II. — Thure bt Fidibus. 
^ [April 30, 1892.] 
I. 

Dark streamers of the eastern gale, 
Blown far across the desert sea, 

Your wings have filled the snowy sail. 
That bears my comrade back to me ! 

Through glist'ning surge and flying foam, 

Your stormy pinions waft him home. 



Cold waves that beat the murmuring 
shore, — 

Sad pulsing throbs of ocean's breast, — 
Your grieving cadence mourns no more. 

Your sobbing requiem dies to rest, — 
When now, by all fame's banners fanned, 
The laurelled wanderer comes to land. 



No longer now our weary eyes 

Gaze down the empty ocean track : 

No more we muse, with stifled sighs. 

On ships that sailed and came not back, — 

Glad hopes that flew, on fancy's wing. 

When all the world was love and spring. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMOKATION. 243 



For now the hollow cave of night, 
The silent deep of time and space, 

Through many a rift of diamond light, 
Yields up our argosy of grace ; 

And all sweet airs of heaven enfold 

Its silver sails and spars of gold. 



The lion heart that never quailed, 
The patient spirit, sweetly wise, 

The equal mind, howe'er assailed 
By grief that blights and time that tries — 

Those are the glories that she bore. 

And those the riches come to shore. 



There should be fairer flowers than these, 
And aU the beUs of joy should fling 

Their music on the perfumed breeze, 
With sweeter songs than I can sing — 

On whose frail harp the sunset ray 

Of passion long has died away. 



Yet once again its fragile strings. 
Slow trembling to my trembling touch, 



244 WANDEREES. 

Shall softly wake to hallow things 

So precious and beloved so much — 
Truth, valour, kindness — all that blend 
To make the champion and the friend ! 



His world of hope be crowned in this ! 

Bloom round him, wheresoe'er he goes, 
White lilies of perpetual bliss, 

Entwined with honour's fadeless rose I 
May all be his that love can give 
And all for which 'tis life to live ! 



A SACEIPICE. 

[D. D. L. — Died September 5, 1889.] 

Early, but not too early for thy fame, 
The seal of silence on thy lips is laid, 
While we, aghast, disheartened, and dis- 
mayed. 
Crush back our tears and softly speak 

thy name. 
To us it has one meaning and the same — 
A brave and gentle soul, a noble mind. 
Pure, constant, generous, modest and re- 
fined, 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 245 

With simple duty for its only aim. 
Dear are the days that thou hast left be- 
hind, 
By sweet words hallowed, and by kindly 

deeds ; 
And thus the heart of sorrow moans and 
bleeds. 
And ever bleeds, and will not be resigned — 
Knowing its hopeless hope is all in vain, 
To see thy face or hear thy voice again. 



WILKIE COLLINS. 

[Died September 23, iSSg.] 
1, 

Often and often, when the days were 

dark 
And, whether to remember or behold. 
Life was a burden, and my heart, grown 

old 
With sorrow, scarce was conscious, did I 

mark 
How from thy distant place across the 

sea, 
Vibrant with hope and with emotion free 



246 WANDEREKS. 

Thy voice of cheer rose like the morning 
lark — 
And that was comfort if not joy to me ! 
For in the weakness of our human grief 
The mind that does not break and will 

not bend 
Teaches endurance as the one true friend, 
The steadfast anchor and the sure relief. 
That was thy word, and what thy precept 

taught 
Thy life made regnant in one living 
thought. 

II. 

Thy vision saw the halo of romance 

Eound every common thing that men 

behold. 
Thy lucid art could turn to precious 
gold, — 
Like roseate motes that in the sunbeams 

dance, — 
Whatever object met thy kindling glance ; 

And in that mirror life was never cold. 
A gracious warmth suffused thy sparkling 
page, 
And woman's passionate heart by thee 

was drawn, 
With all the glorious colours of the dawn, 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 247 

Against the background of this pagan age — 
Her need of love, her sacrifice, her trance 
Of patient pain, her weary pilgrimage ! 
Thou knewest all of grief that can be 

known, 
And didst portray all sorrows but thine 
own. 

III. 

Where shall I turn, now that thy lips are 
dumb 
And night is on those eyes that loved me 

well? 
What other voice, across thy dying 
knell. 
With like triumphant notes of power will 

come ? 
Alas ! my ravaged heart is still and numb 
With thinking of the blank that must 

remain ! 
Yet be it mine, amid these wastes of 
pain. 
Where all must falter and where many 

sink, 
To stay the foot of misery on the brink 
Of dark despair, to bid blind sorrow 

see — 
Teaching that human wiU breaks every 
chain 



248 WANDERERS. 

When once endurance sets the spirit 
free; 
And, living thus thy perfect faith, to think 

I am to others what thou wert to me ! 
•Steamship Aurania, Mid-ocean, October 10, 1889, 



MISEEIMUS. 

fC. W. T. — Died April 12, 1891.] 
I. 
Fheed from the strife of this world and the 
scorn of it, 
Sweetly he sleeps on the emerald plain ! 
Never ambition, nor sorrow that's born of 
it — 
Sceptre or cross — can afflict him again ! 
All that he lived for was truth and the fight 
for it ; 
Now all his battles are over and done. 
Death gives him slumber, at last, and the 
night for it — 
Trials all ended and victory won ! 



They that reviled him may mourn to re- 
cover him — 
Knowing how gentle he was and how 
brave ! 



■--— ^'-^^I'lrni mnif ■ •"•ii 'iiiiir if • rrniMBi— 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 249 

Nothing he'll reck, where the wind blowing 
over him 
Kipples the grasses that dream on his 
grave ! 
Though to our vision this dust be the last 
of him, 
Low in the ground and deserted and lone, 
Time will avenge all the woe that is past of 
him, 
Fate will remember and justice atone. 



After the fray and the heart-breaking pain 
of it, 
Aliened affection and honour betrayed. 
Here is the end and the crown and the gain 
of it — 
Cold in the earth where the victor is 
laid. 
Stars will watch over him, silence lament 
for him, 
Soft woodland whispers re-echo his 
knell — 
Bird-note and leaf-murmur tenderly blent 
for him — 
Comrade and brother and friend, Fare 
thee well ! 



250 WANDERERS. ^ 

FLOEENCE. 

[An Epitaph.] 

By Virtue cherished, by Affection mourned, 
By Honour hallowed, and by Fame adorned, 
Here Flokence sleeps, and o'er his sacred 

rest 
Each word is tender and each thought is 

blest. 
Long, for his loss, shall pensive Mem'ry 

show 
Through Humour's mask, the visage of her 

woe. 
Day breathe a darkness that no sun dispels. 
And Night be full of whispers and farewells ; 
While patient Kindness, shadow-like and 

dim. 
Droops in its loneliness, bereft of him, 
Feels its sad doom and sure decadence 

nigh, — 
For how should Kindness live, when he 

could die ! 

The eager heart, that felt for every grief, 
The bounteous hand, that loved to give 
relief, 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 25! 

The honest smile, that blessed where'er it 

lit, 
The dew of pathos and the sheen of wit, 
The sweet blue eyes, the voice of melting 

tone 
That made all hearts as gentle as his own ; 
The Actor's charm, supreme in royal thrall. 
That ranged through every field and shone 

in all — 
For these must Sorrow make perpetual 

moan, 
Bereaved, benighted, hopeless, and alone ? 
Ah, no : for Nature does no act amiss. 
And heaven were lonely but for souls like 

this. 



GEORGE WILLIAM CUETIS. 

[Died August 31, 1892.] 
I. 
All the flowers were in their pride 
On the day when Kupert died. 

Dreamily, through dozing trees, 
Sighed the idle summer breeze. 

Wild birds, glancing in the air, 
Spilled their music everywhere. 



252 WANDERERS. 

Not one sign of mortal ill 

Told that his great heart was still, 

Now the grass he loved to tread 
Murmurs softly o'er his head : 

Now the great green branches wave 
High above his lonely grave : 

While, in grief's perpetual speech, 
Roll the breakers on the beach. 

Oh, my comrade, oh, my friend, 
Must this parting be the end ? 



"Weave the shroud and spread the pall ! 
Night and silence cover all. 

Howsoever we deplore, 
They who go return no more. 

Never from that unknown track 
Floats one answering whisper back. 

Nature, vacant, will not heed 

Lips that grieve or hearts that bleed. 

Wherefore now should mourning word 
Or the tearful dirge be heard ? 

How shall words our grief abate ? — 
Call him noble ; call him great ; 



n^ I '■ -■■ -'-- -■'- -^-"^'■— ^'«~«^ 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 253 

Say that faith, now gaunt and grun, 
Once was fair because of him ; 

Say tliat goodness, round his way, 
Made one everlasting day ; 

Say that beauty's heavenly flame 
Bourgeoned wheresoe'er he came ; 

Say that all life's common ways 
Were made glorious in his gaze ; 

Say he gave us, hour by hour, 

Hope and patience, grace and power ; 

Say his spirit was so true 
That it made us noble too ; — 

What is this, but to declare 

Life's bereavement, Love's despair ? 

What is this, but just to say 
All we loved is torn away ? 

Weave the shroud and spread the pall 1 
Night and silence cover all. 



Oh, my comrade, oh, my friend. 
Must this parting be the end ? 



254 WANDERERS. 

Heart and hope are growing old : 
Dark the night comes down, and cold : 

Few the souls that answer mine, 
And no voice so sweet as thine. 

Desert wastes of care remain — 
Yet thy lips speak not again ! 

Gray eternities of space — 
Yet nowhere thy living face ! 

Only now the lonesome blight, 
Heavy day and haunted night. 

All the light and music reft — 
Only thought and memory left ! 

Peace, fond mourner ! This thy boon, • 
Thou thyself must follow soon. 

Peace, — and let repining go ! 
Peace, — for Fate will have it so. 

Vainly now his praise is said : 
Vain the garland for his head^ 

Yet is comfort's shadow cast 
From the kindness of the past. 

All my love could do to cheer 
Warmed his heart when he was here. 



(MM 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 255 

Honour's plaudit, Friendship's vow 
Did not coldly wait till now. 

Oh, my comrade, oh, my friend, 
If this parting be the end, 

Yet I hold my life divine. 

To have known a soul like thine : 

And I hush the low lament 
In submission, penitent. 

Still the sun is in the skies : 

He sets — but I have seen him rise ! 



PEEDITA. 

I WATCHED your ship where, strong and 

bright, 
She sailed into the gathering night 

And sped away ; 
I saw the sunset colours die 
And gray gloom wrap the evening sky 

And veil the day. 

I heard the cold waves on the shore 

Their pensive sorrow o'er and o'er 

In murmurs tell, 



256 WANDEKEES. 

While, as the glimmering sea grew dim, 
The wind sang low its vesper hymn — 
Farewell, Tarewell. 

What thoughts of blessing and of prayer 
I wafted on the twilight air. 

What fancies drear 
Possessed my soul, no words could say — 
Yet holy angels listening may 

Its homage hear. 

I mused upon your parting word, 
The low, sad whisper, scarcely heard, 

Your angel face. 
And — fadeless flowers in memory's track — 
The happy days, that come not back, 

Of fortune's grace : 

Days when we roved on Avon's side, 
Or wandered by the rushing tide 

Of bickering Stour, 
Or in the great cathedral strayed — 
Where to be worthy still I prayed 

Of one so pure. 

The sunset mist, the golden town. 
When we strolled home from Harbledown, 
The merry bands 



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TRIBUTE AND COMMEMOEATION. 257 

Of rustic girls who bore, for sign 
Of prospered toil, the fragrant vine 
In tawny hands ; 

The quiet streets, as evening fell. 
The minster's gloom, the solemn bell, 

The scented air, 
The rooks that thronged the giant trees, 
The churchyard stones and, over these. 

The moonlight fair, — 

I felt them all, as though that they 
Had been the things of yesterday, 

And chill regret 
Preyed on my lonely heart, to think 
How soon the stars of pleasure sink 

And we forget. 

The Thames is flowing, broad and free, 
'Neath that old bridge of Battersea, 

Where, veiled in gloom, 
Great St. John sleeps — too sound to wake, 
For all the vows that lovers make 

Beside his tomb. 

The emerald throstle's silver call 
Is heard by Leicester's haunted hall, 
And down the vale 



258 WANDERERS. 

Of Kenilworth the hawthorns wreath, 
And roses tremble, underneath 
The starlight pale. 

The winds of night sigh softly through 
The needles of St. Martin's yew. 

And round the shrines 
Of gray St. Nicholas, the lone 
And melancholy breezes moan. 

And ivy twines. 

From those proud cliffs that smile on France 
You still might see the moonbeams dance 

O'er midnight waves ; — 
Are all the reveries sublime 
And holy thoughts of that sweet time 

Lost in their graves ? 

Is the light faded, has the ray 

Of heaven become the common day, 

And from your breast 
The careless warder Time let slip 
The sense of fond companionship 

That was its guest ? 

I will not think it — though, for me, 
By day or night, by land or sea, 
Ah, nevermore 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 259 

Can those exalted moments seem 
Like aught but some bewildered dream 
Of fairy lore ! 

I do not think it — those clear eyes 
The light that burns in paradise 

Is shining through ; 
And all that radiant woman brought 
Of holy faith and heavenly thought 

Is shrined in you ! 

Farewell, farewell — the sands of gold 
Have run their course, the tale is told, 

And dark and fast 
Night closes round my wandering way — 
As round the set of that sad day 

Which was our last. 

Yet ever, while we walk this earth, 
In shade or shine, in grief or mirth, 

"While life endures, 
One thought must still our hearts entwine, — 
And naught can take your place in mine. 

Nor mine in yours. 



26o WAXDEREKS. 

AETHUE. 

[1872-1886.] 



White sail upon the ocean verge, 
Just crimsoned by the setting sun, 

Thou hast thy port beyond the surge. 
Thy happy homeward course to run, 

And winge'd hope, with heart of fire. 

To gain the bliss of thy desire. 

I watch thee till the sombre sky 
Has darkly veiled the lucent plain ; 

My thoughts, like homeless spirits, fly 
Behind thee o'er the glimmering main : 

Thy prow will kiss a golden strand, 

But they can never come to land. 

And if they could, the fanes are black 
Where once I bent the reverent knee ; 

No shrine would send an answer back, 
No sacred altar blaze for me, 

No holy bell, with silver toll. 

Declare the ransom of my soul. 



TRIBUTE AND COMMEMORATION. 261 

'Tis equal darkness, here or there ; 

For nothing that this world can give 
Could now the ravaged past repair, 

Or win the precious dead to live ! 
Life's crumbling ashes quench its flame, 
And every place is now the same. 



Thou idol of my constant heart, 
Thou child of perfect love and light, 

That sudden from my side didst part. 
And vanish in the sea of night, 

Through whatsoever tempests blow 

My weary soul with thine would go. 

Say, if thy spirit yet have speech. 
What port lies hid within the pall. 

What shore death's gloomy billows reach, 
Or if they reach no shore at all ! 

One word — one little word — to tell 

That thou art safe and all is well ! 

The anchors of my earthly fate. 
As they were cast so must they cling ; 

And naught is now to do but wait 

The sweet release that time will bring. 

When all these mortal moorings break, 

For one last voyage I must make. 



262 WANDERERS. 

Say that across the shuddering dark — 
And whisper that the hour is near — 

Thy hand will guide my shattered bark 
Till mercy's radiant coasts appear, 

Where I shall clasp thee to my breast, 

And know once more the name of rest. 




NOTES. 



NOTES. 



1. "The Broken Harp" — ■which was written in 
the vale of the Dargle — aud "Asleep" have been 
set to melodies that are tender and lovely, by my 
friend Richard Mansfield. 

2. My poem of" Orgia" has had a singular expe- 
rience, the authorship of it having, periodically, been 
ascribed to various drunkards, lunatics, suicides, and 
other such eccentric persons, in whose pockets, after 
their death, have been found manuscript copies of it, 
in a chronic state of mangled metre and bad gram- 
mar. I wrote the poem on December 10, 1859, in 
Boston, and it was first published on January 7, 
1860, in a paper called the New York Saturday 
Press, — long ago extinct. 

3. " Love and Death " was delivered by me at the 
dedication of the Actors' Monument to Edgar Poe, 
in the Metropolitan Museum, New York, May 4, 
1885. The poem was not written for that occasion, 
or for any occasion, but it was written just before 
th.'it time, and I thought it appropriate to the com- 
memoration of that poet. 

4. This title, " The Voice of the Silence," origi- 
nated aud first used by me in 1876, was taken, many 
years later, and used in the same sense, by an eccen- 
tric writer on theosophy, the late Mme. Blavatsky. 

5. At Boston, October 28, 1882, was commemo- 
rated the fiftieth anniversary of William Warren's 

265 



266 WANDEREES. 

adoption of the profession of the stage. At mid- 
night, after the play, at a supper in the comedian's 
home, No. 2 Bulfinch Place, a loving cup was pre- 
sented to him, — the gift of Edwin Booth, Joseph 
Jefferson, Miss Mary Anderson, John McCullough, 
and Lawrence Barrett, — and, in offering that token, 
I read this poem. 

6. The " Elegy at Evergreen " was first denomi- 
nated " Anubis," the name of the Egyptian god who 
presided over the transit of souls across the river of 
death. The Actors' Monument is inscribed with 
two lines from Shakespeare: — 

" The benediction of these covering heavens 
Fall on their heads like dew." 

And it also bears these inscriptions, written by me : — 
In loving and reverent memory of many votaries 

of the stage, whose ashes are buried near it, this 

monument was placed here by the Actors' Fund of 

America, June, 1887. 

Here to your eyes, our earthly labours done. 
We who played many parts now play but one. 
"We knew the stops, could give the viol breath. 
But now are only monitors of death: 
Yet even thus our relics may impart 
A truth beyond the reach of living art, 
Teaching the strong, the beautiful, the brave. 
That all life's pathways centre in the grave; 
Bidding them live, nor negligent nor fond. 
To bless this world, yet ever look beyond. 

7. John T. Raymond is buried at Evergreen Ceme- 
tery, and his grave is marked with a stone bearing 
my lines, preceded by the following inscription: 
This monument, the gift of many aSectionate 



NOTES. 267 

friends, is placed here in loving memory of John T. 
Raymond, comedian. He was born in Buffalo, New 
Yorli, April 5, 1836. He died in Evansville, Indiana, 
April 10, 1887. 

'JlinG apicem rapax 
Fortuna cum stridore aciito 
Sustulit, hie posuisse gaudeV 

8. Lester 'Wallack, the most brilliant and long the 
most distinguished actor of high comedy on the 
American stage, died on September 6, 1888. — Other 
friends, named in these pages, have passed away. 
John Brougham died on June 7, 1880; John Mc- 
CuUough on November 8, 1885 ; William Warren on 
September 21, 1888; John Gilbert on June 17, 1889; 
George Fawcett Rowe on August 30, 1889; Law- 
rence Barrett on March 20, 1891; and Clifton W. 
Tayleure on April 12, 1891. — Allusion occurs, in 
the tribute to Lawrence Barrett, to Adelaide Neil- 
son, who died on August 15, 1880, and to Edward 
A. Sothern, who died on January 20, 1881. — The 
poem called " Good Night " commemorates the 
genial humourist of Harper's Magazine, William A. 
Seaver. — William James Florence, whose epitaph 
appears among my commemorative poems, is buried 
at Greenwood. He was born in Albany, New York, 
July 26, 1831, and he died in Philadelphia, November 
19, 1891.— The tributes to Brougham, John Lawrence 
Toole, George Fawcett Rowe, John Gilbert, Law- 
rence Barrett, and Lester Wallack were originally 
delivered at festivals in their honour, at the Lotos 
Club, New York. The feast to John Gilbert was 
given to celebrate the completion of his fiftieth year 
as an actor, November 30, 1878. The present writer 
made an address, closing it with the poem here 



268 WAKDEREES. 

given, which was originally called "Edelweiss." — 
The tributes to Edwin Booth, John McCuUough, 
and Henry Irving were delivered, on festival occa- 
Bions, at Delmonico'a. " Honour's Pearl " was also 
delivered there. " Thure et Fidibus " was read at 
the Lotos Club. The former was a poem of fare- 
well to the Hon. Whitelaw Reid, just before he went 
abroad as American Minister to France; the latter 
a poem of welcome to him when he came home. 



Most of my poems have drifted into life : they 
came; they were not compelled; and therefore, and 
because their existence seems frail and their fate 
dubious, I have called them Wandekbrs. They 
are the vagrant children of my love, and perhaps 
partiality has blinded judgment and persuaded me 
to anticipate for them a permanence to which they 
are not destined. I have thought that they express 
representative moods of feeling and representative 
phases of experience, and that their style is distinc 
tive. The wish to add something of permanent value 
to pure literature is honourable and not unnatural ; 
and I am willing to believe that these poems, thought- 
fully chosen out of many that I have written, are an 
authentic contribution to that ancient body of Eng- 
lish lyrical poetry of which gentleness is the soul 
and simplicity the garment. If this estimate of them 
is wrong, oblivion will soon set it right. 

W. "W. 

July 15, 1892. 



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